


Time Interned

by TaraSoleil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Failing to get involved, Marauders' Era, Meddling in other people's lives, Time Travel, Time Turner, Trapped in the 70s, Trouble with werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 55
Words: 112,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4268385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraSoleil/pseuds/TaraSoleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco meant to send her to the future, to a world ruled by Lord Voldemort. He really ought to read directions before he goes messing with other people's things. Hermione finds herself stuck in the past (The 70s!), pretending to be something she's not (Average!) and fighting with everything she has to keep from changing the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Perfect Plan

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever HP story, written in a month in 2011.

Hermione Granger was glad she never bothered reading fiction. She liked facts and histories and manuals, usable and useful information. Fictions filled readers with false facts. For example, major events rarely took place on dark and stormy nights, the good guys did not always wear white and _if_ they won there was a chance they would die or become so dirty with blood and guilt that they wished they had died.

If she filled her substantial brain with such fictitious drivel, she would have looked at the day–bright, sunny, birds chirping and an impossibly full schedule of classes – and thought that nothing important or bad could possibly happen on such a day. How wrong she would have been.

The sixth year student strolled out into the sun, basking in the unseasonable warmth like a snake under a heat lamp. After a month of frigid snow storms, the forty-degree day seemed positively balmy. Everyone was in class, even she was in class right now. She was sitting in Transfiguration taking notes and preparing to transform her pineapple into a porcupine. That’s where she had been two hours earlier, and thanks to the Time-Turner she could double back and also study in the sunshine at the same time. Her sixth year schedule wasn’t nearly as daunting as what she had attempted in her third year; she had only four classes competing for two time slots, but with her Prefect duties and her helping Harry on his quest to rid the world of Voldemort, Dumbledore saw fit to give her the Time-Turner again. She sat on a boulder overlooking the lake, the black fabric of her school robes intensifying the solar heat. The Charms book lay open on her lap, but her face was turned to the sunlight in a rare break from studying, her mind blissful and her ears filled with the sound of water lapping the lakeshore.

The breeze stirred the leaves on the trees and disguised the approach of someone Hermione least hoped to notice her. Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prefect and all around pain in the ass, took his time approaching. He should have been in Charms class, but had been delayed by a couple of first year Gryffindors lost in the corridors. He had taken an excessive number of points for their failure to know the way to class, crooked ties and dirty noses and then for daring to cry after being sorted into a house that prides itself on courage. It was a good morning and Flitwick was always one to turn a blind eye to a Prefect being late for performing his or her duty.

As he strolled, hands in his pockets and robes open to enjoy the sun, he spotted who could only be Granger sitting by the lake, there was no mistaking that mop of hair for anyone else. He knew she was supposed to be in Transfiguration. He also knew she had a schedule that wasn’t humanly possible. He had noticed the way she disappeared one moment and reappeared another in a slightly different location, her hair slightly bushier and her bag on the wrong shoulder. His observations were not of an admiring nature; he had learned that information was often the greatest weapon, and the more he knew of his enemies, the better equipped he would be to defeat them.

The Dark Lord had given him a mission, a seemingly impossible mission to assassinate Albus Dumbledore, the beloved Headmaster of Hogwarts and the only man the Dark Lord was said to fear. There weren’t many ways to accomplish such a goal, and he knew that Potter and his tagalongs were sure to find him out and try to thwart him after Katie Bell landed in hospital. He had been so sure that placing her under the Imperius Curse would work.

 The boy seethed with anger. It was their fault that he was in this mess. They forced the Dark Lord to show himself at the Ministry of Magic, now his father was in Azkaban, his mother was a hostage in her own house and Draco was being punished with a mission that would certainly end his own life.

Draco had only one way to increase his chances of succeeding and maybe even living. He had to stunt his enemies, slow them down, make them stupider. He knew Granger was the brains, muddy as her blood was, and if he could get rid of her it would make his mission that much more of a chance. The Mudblood had given him the perfect idea with her inhuman feats of being in two places at once.

Time travel.

Time-Turners had a limited range of travel in either direction, only twenty years give or take a few months. Granger was far too clever to send to the past. She could take advantage of her knowledge to send warnings or even alter the past to prevent key events from happening. No, he would send her to the future, to a world where the Dark Lord ruled and Mudbloods and Muggles were slaves. It would be perfect. All he needed was access to the Time-Turner long enough to do his work.

Just yards away, in the shade of a great beech, Draco drew his wand, took aim and whispered a hex. Granger froze on the rock, petrified where she sat, a living statue. He ran forward, cautious and silent even though his enemy was useless to stop his attack. He didn’t waste his time checking the pockets of her robes or skirt, his pales hands flew to her neck. Her eyes, the only part of her body that could move after the petrification hex, showed fear. She thought he meant to strangle her.

“As if I’d dirty my hands with your filthy blood,” he sneered.

His fingers found the thin gold chain and he pulled the Time-Turner free from her robes. The golden hourglass was fixed in place amid its starry housing, but the magical sands continued to spill from one blown glass globe to the other.

Draco’s sneer pulled into a triumphant smirk. It was just as it appeared in the library books, which meant he knew how to operate it. All he need do was spin the glass to its maximum and he would be rid of Granger. “I hope you enjoy the world the Dark Lord builds.”

He took his wand to the delicate device and whispered an incantation. It did nothing, as he intended. He stepped back, holding the Time-Turner at arm’s length lest he be sent ahead along with her. With fingers that barely functioned from excitement, he gripped the tiny knob and spun it forward until it locked in place. He released the Time-Turner, letting it fall back against Granger’s chest. Before it could hit against her petrified robes, she was gone, faded into time.

The boy’s smirk faded as she did. He knew the ease of this plan was no indication of his true mission. His real work was only just starting, as terrifying as that work was.


	2. A World Apart

Traveling through time was sickening even under ideal circumstances. Hermione had only travelled a maximum of three hours, with her eye clamped shut. She had learned in her third year, after only two trips backward with the Time-Turner, that trying to watch the motion of passing time made her physically nauseous even as it exhilarated her mind. Locked in petrified form, she could not close her eyes against the dizzying vision of bodies moving at super speed, the lake lapping against the shore in frantic, angry waves, storms whipping in and out. It was all too much, her stomach turned and she would have vomited had she not been frozen.

The passage of twenty years took only a few seconds, but it was still too much for her. When the world finally stood still, she rolled off the boulder and threw up.

Even as she held back her hair and braced herself against the sun-warmed rock, she wondered how she could be moving. Malfoy had not lifted the hex before sending her back, which meant he had to have lifted it now, some twenty years later. She looked up through the haze of her hair. There was nothing but empty campus. The lake was as gentle as it had been minutes before, twenty years before. The trees seemed smaller, but, she reasoned, if there was a battle at Hogwarts, then the damaged trees would have been replaced; twenty years of magic-assisted growth would make for some impressive foliage.

She turned and saw Hogwarts standing tall and unscathed. Would Voldemort, the Dark Lord, have left Hogwarts intact? Hermione was sure that he would have left the school, just altered the contents. No Muggle Studies for one thing. No Muggle-borns for another.

She spat the last of her lunch back at the ground and magically cleansed her mouth. The Muggle-born witch, brightest in her class, in the whole school if all modesty was thrown aside, was more than a little afraid. She believed in Harry and Dumbledore, believed that they would find a way to defeat Voldemort, but she couldn’t help but feel fear. She had been thrust into an unknown world. Would this be a world she recognised, a world her friends had a hand in making? Or would it be one that rejected everything she was and everything her friends stood for?

While she hoped this world was one of Harry’s making, some small part of her hoped it would be Voldemort’s. Vanity and pride wanted the Light’s chances of winning to fall to nil with her absence. It was a ridiculous desire, one she had already proven false when she was petrified by the basilisk in their second year. Harry and Ron had figured it out – using the clues she had left for them – and defeated the spirit of Tom Riddle. To think that the mind of one person held the key to defeating the greatest dark wizard ever known, was nonsense, and Hermione Jean Granger did not hold to nonsense.

She shook her head and returned to the facts at hand.

No one, not even Draco Malfoy, was around. She was alone. If Draco had not lifted the hex, then it meant he had died. As arrogant and bigoted as he was, Draco was just a boy. His beliefs had been malformed by his parents and exploited by twisted dark wizards and witches. He was not bad. The fact that he hadn’t just killed her outright when she was petrified and helpless proved that. He was a wizard, a fairly good one she had to admit, he could easily have disposed of her corpse magically, but he chose to leave her alive and banish her to another time.

Wait! she thought and slapped herself in the forehead for being so stupid.

Draco had not banished her. The Time-Turner was still around her neck. A quick turn and she would be back in her own time, ready to hex the arrogant Prefect for daring to mess with the brightest witch of their age. She grabbed the hourglass and felt a sharp stab in her finger.

Blood. She was bleeding. A thin, deep cut in her finger oozed red where she had touched the Time-Turner. Holding the chain, she examined her lifeline, the Time-Turner, and found it broken. The delicate blown glass orbs were fractured, the magical sands spilled out to the ground below, disappearing amid the thick grass stalks.

“Reparo!” She cried, but it had no effect. The sands continued to fall. Hurriedly, she conjured a box and placed the device inside it, letting the sands fall where she might still make some use of them. “Accio Time-Turner sand!” She pointed her want to the ground; a few sparkling grains flew up and into the box, but the rest lay still. They were no longer magical grains, but ordinary sand, as common as they came.

So that was what Draco had muttered before he sent her back, a hex on the Time-Turner to break when she arrived. Hermione fought back tears; she fought back anger; she fought back admiration and jealousy that he could even perform such a delicate spell. She was stuck and alone.

“You there!” a deep voice boomed across the grounds.

She was not alone. In the distance a figure appeared over a low hill and made his way toward Hermione.

The girl smoothed her hair and robes; she was still a Hogwarts Prefect and she would present herself as such to whomever it was that was coming to meet her. The sun shone on the smooth lake, reflected off it like a mirror and glared in her eyes. She could make out the shape of the man if she squinted against the sunlight. If she had to guess just by the size of him, she would say the man was Rubeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper of Hogwarts in her time, but Hagrid would be about ninety years old in this time. The man may be half-giant but even he could not still move with the sprightliness this man did. Perhaps Hagrid had a son that he never mentioned, or perhaps he and the half-giantess headmistress of the French wizarding school had a child. Could this be a young Rubeus Hagrid, Jr?

“Hello,” the man said, sounding every bit like her Hagrid. “Yer a bit early, ain’ yeh? Term don’ start fer three days.”

Term? She thought. He’s not going to question my lineage? My blood? Well, not that any son of Hagrid would.

The giant of a man stepped between her and the lake, shielding her eyes from the glare. Without the bright white light stabbing into her eyes, she could see the man clearly. Tall as a small cottage, wider than two men together, with kind and shining black eyes and a beard huge and bushy; the resemblance was too much. This couldn’t possibly be someone that shared only half of Rubeus Hagrid’s DNA. This man was like a clone, identical in all but age to the man she knew.

“I though’ I knew all the students, bu’ I can’ recall yer face,” he said. “Think per’aps I ough’ a take yeh ter see the Headmaster.”

Hermione just nodded and stared at him. Was it possible Malfoy got it wrong? Had he sent her backwards instead of forwards?

The man, too much like Hagrid than seemed possible, walked along the warm, wet grass toward the front entrance of the school. Her Hagrid often strolled along, oblivious to the fact that no one could match his impossibly long strides. This man, possibly Hagrid, walked slowly enough for her to keep up. It wasn’t that his legs were any less long or even that he was being considerate of her significantly shorter height; he didn’t know her and probably didn’t trust her. He likely wanted to keep her where he could see her, to make sure she was following him to the Headmaster’s office, even if it meant walking at what felt to him like a painfully slow pace. Term started in three days; he had a lot to do to get the grounds ready. The last thing he wanted was to take a leisurely walk with some girl who shouldn’t be there.

As they walked the serpentine path through the school toward the Headmaster’s office, Hermione was growing more convinced that Malfoy had gotten it wrong. This could not possibly be the future. There was nothing so drastically altered to indicate a change in leadership or staffing. No new paintings showing the honoured old staff members she knew and respected, no signs indicated that Dumbledore was no longer the Headmaster. She was only a teenager, but she was old enough to grasp age and its ravages on the body. Dumbledore was over one hundred years old and was not sustained by the Elixir of Life; between the stresses of his job and the challenges of the inevitable battle against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, Hermione knew it was unlikely that Dumbledore would live to be one hundred and twenty.

“All righ’,” the man she suspected to be Hagrid said. “Wha’ was the new password?” He bunched his face up in his effort to remember whatever words the Headmaster chose as his protection. Albus Dumbledore always seemed to choose sweets as his password. “Jelly Baby!”

“That’s a Muggle candy,” Hermione looked both delighted and confused. Confused because she found it hard to imagine a Headmaster of Hogwarts popping down to the local shop to grab a bag of so ordinary a candy. She had never seen Dumbledore in Muggle clothes and couldn’t imagine him in them even if she tried. Still, she was delighted to hear the Muggle candy used as a password.  A Muggle candy meant Muggles were still around, still accepted. If this was the future, which she didn’t think it was, it was a future that included Muggles.

In the time it took her to consider this, the seemingly lifeless stone gargoyle moved from its post, leaping aside to allow them passage. Together Hermione and the groundskeeper stepped onto the stone stairs, which began to rotate on a central axis, spiralling them upwards.

Hermione had been to the Headmaster’s office before and had been fascinated by it. The paintings of every previous Headmaster since the school’s founding hung on the wall and provided sage advice or snored through the more common disasters. Dumbledore had amassed an amazing collection of magical devices that she had never seen in any book. She often wanted to ask what they were for, but, on the rare occasions that she had been in his office, there were generally far more pressing concerns. This would be another such time.

The delicate and intricate gold and brass magical machines spun and whirled as they had twenty years ago or would twenty years in the future – she was still waiting for final and official confirmation on the exact date. The Headmasters of the past looked down from their frames on the wall and were slightly confused, muttering to one another about the bushy-haired girl in prefect robes. In the high-backed chair sat the Headmaster, his white beard so long it disappeared beneath the desk. His robes were an eccentric lilac with complimentary green stars. His long nose crooked as it ever was, and his eyes twinkled.

“Professor Dumbledore!” Hermione said before she could stop herself.

“Yes, I believe I am,” he said with a smile, gesturing for her to sit in the chair opposite.

“If it’s alright with you, Professor,” the giant of a man said, “I’d like ter get back ter work. Lots to do.”

“That’s quite all right, Hagrid,” the Headmaster smiled and watched Hermione as she reacted to the name. They both watched him leave, crouching down to fit beneath the doorframe.

“Since we both know who I am,” Dumbledore smiled, “I think the topic of conversation ought to centre around you, don’t you?”

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione said, nodding. “I’m–” She stopped. Could she even tell him her name? Was that even too much information? “I’m a student here. Well, I will be a student here in – oh, what’s the date?”

“The 29th of August 1976 by the traditional calendar,” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

“Oh, then I will be a student here in twenty years,” Hermione watched him for a reaction that didn’t come, so she continued. “More accurately, my first year won’t be for another fourteen years. I was in my sixth year when I was sent backward with the Time-Turner. So to be precise, I’m from nineteen years, ten months and about two weeks in the future…give or take…” she finished lamely.

“You will be a Prefect, I see,” Dumbledore nodded to her shining badge. He spoke amiably, as if this were the sort of chat he had on a regular basis.

“Yes, Professor, of Gryffindor.”

“Ah, my own house.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“You say you were sent back?” Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair and collected a bag from his cluttered desk. “Jelly baby?” He offered. She shook her head, so he took one for himself.

“You did not choose to come back?” he popped a candy into his mouth and chewed while she answered.

“No, Professor, I would not have chosen to come back. It’s against the rules to travel so far back without Ministry clearance. I only got the Time-Turner after several character references were provided by the professors here. I’ve only travelled three hours back before, and even that was at your–“ She stopped and realised she might be saying too much.

Dumbledore twinkled at her while he finished chewing the candy.

“Well, I see no issue,” Dumbledore spoke at last. “Let us use your Time-Turner to send you forward.”

“I can’t,” she placed the box on the desk before him. The cracked and shattered hourglass and its sands were in no state to return anyone to any time. “Mal – The one who sent me back hexed it to break on arrival.”

“That was quite cunning.”

“He’s a Slytherin,” she told him flatly.

“Ah,” the old man nodded.

“Professor,” she stood and looked at him earnestly, “I know you don’t know me and have no reason to believe me, but could you please write to the Ministry and request a Time-Turner?”

The twinkle diminished in his eye and he shook his head sadly. “That I cannot do, I’m afraid.”

“Professor, there are–” She stopped. “I was researching how to–” Again she could not continue her line of thought without revealing too much. “We were doing–” She sucked in an irritated breath and sighed. Dumbledore said nothing; he interlaced his fingers and rested his hands on his chest, waiting patiently for the girl to find her right words.

“Professor, please, I need to get back. There were things, important things, that I was doing to help keep things in _Order_ ,” at the final word she stared hard over his shoulder to the Phoenix preening himself on a brass perch.

Dumbledore turned his head slightly and followed her eye, when he turned back the twinkle had gone out completely. “I had hoped such things would not need to be kept in Order twenty years from now,” he said sadly. “Tom has been making such a terrible time for everyone lately, poor boy.”

“Poor boy?!”

“Yes,” he nodded. “So bright–A Prefect and a favourite of many professors. It was hard to imagine such a promising student turn to such desperate means.”

Hermione never realised how much Dumbledore knew about Voldemort before he became The Dark Lord. Harry had told them what Tom Riddle’s ghost had revealed in the Chamber of Secrets. She knew he had been a student when Dumbledore was still the Transfiguration professor, but somehow she never connected that Dumbledore would know enough about Voldemort’s early life to pity the Dark wizard.

“Professor, I–“

“No,” he held his hand up to silence her. “You are quite right to keep your secrets. Any information, however innocent it might appear and however kindly it is meant, could have some far-reaching damage you or I cannot imagine.”

“If that’s what you believe, then why won’t you write to the Ministry?”

“Because the Time-Turner has not yet been invented,” he said with a smile, though his eyes did not twinkle.

“Yes, they have. I read in _A Century of Magical Inventions_ that it was created by the Ministry in 1975. It exists!” Hermione insisted. Books never steered her wrong.

“I’ve no doubt that’s true, my dear,” he smiled. “However, I suspect that if it was invented recently, it was done so in secret as a way of stopping Tom.”

“But,” Hermione searched for the words to express herself. “The rules forbid any meddling in events of the past, no matter how inconsequential they seem. The Ministry made those rules…”

“Yes, probably after some very hard lessons.” Here his eyes twinkled a bit. “Most rules are created after the fact to keep anything so horrible from happening again. It is possible that the Ministry did succeed in preventing Tom from becoming Lord Voldemort…”

“But in changing the past, it’s possible they created a new Dark wizard that was even worse.” Hermione slouched in the leather chair.

“You understand.”

“But what can I do?” She looked back at him. “It’s too dangerous for me to stay here.”

“This is the safest place for you,” Dumbledore contradicted her.

“But–”

“I could not, in good conscience, allow you to wander this world. Should Tom or his followers discover when you are from, we would all be in terrible danger. With the information you possess, he could damage any chance we have of stopping him. Hogwarts is the only place you can hide.”

He stood, brushing the bits of Jelly Babies from his hands. When he turned Hermione could see the remnants of auburn, long gone in her time, on the tips of his long hair. He moved with a considerable spring in his step, and he seemed to fill his robes a bit more than he would later. It was amazing the difference twenty years could make. This Dumbledore was eighty-five years old. Her grandfather died at eighty-three, thin and shaky. Dumbledore was still robust.

He turned and offered her a goblet of water, the twinkle radiating from in his eyes once more.

“Tell me,” he smiled. “Do you speak French?”

 


	3. Into the Blue

The first of September fell on a Thursday. It was raining when the Hogwarts Express whistled its arrival at Hogsmeade Station. The rain had been building steadily all day and when the first years huddled round the massive figure of Rubeus Hagrid and the beacon he held, the storm broke loose. Tiny, hard drops of water pelted down on them as they approached the boats. Not even rain would prevent a millennia-old tradition. First years always arrived by boat. The view of the castle from the lake was the most breath taking and one that would stay with them for the rest of their lives.

Hidden away in the North tower, Hermione watched the boats float across the lake. She remembered her first night, how she had sat in the tiny boat awed speechless by the beauty of it. It had been a clear night when she arrived, now it was dark and stormy.

The fiction books got it right on occasion. It was a dark and stormy night and dangerous games were about to start. She pulled the cloak over her shoulders and started down the steps.

“GRYFFINDOR!” she hear the Sorting Hat cry, followed by a cheer. Through the crack in the door she could see the line of first years growing smaller as one by one they were sorted into their houses. She strained her eyes trying to see the Gryffindor table. She knew that at that table were the parents of her best friend, Harry. She turned her eyes back to the first years. The line was down to just three students, then two, now one. Professor McGonagall, younger but no less rigid, rolled up her scroll and went to remove the Sorting Hat.

“A moment, Professor McGonagall,” Dumbledore said, and stood. He addressed the hall, his calm voice filling the room. “We are fortunate this year to have with us a transfer student from a distinguished wizarding school on the Continent.”  Murmurs and whispers filled the hall, but he silenced them with a small wave of his hand. “I’m sure many of you have heard of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Starting tonight we are to play host to one of Beauxbatons fine students. I expect you all to show her what it means to be a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

The students clapped politely, but whispered fiercely to one another. Dumbledore nodded to Professor McGonagall. She looked at her scroll once again and saw a name added to the end. She sighed and looked for the girl. The doors to the Great Hall opened wide, startling everyone into silence. Minerva McGonagall still saw no student, but she did her duty anyway.

“Garnier, Mione,” she called out.

A girl already past the cusp of being a young woman walked to the entrance and stopped. She glanced around, slightly bored, and started down the main aisle. The blue silk of her uniform almost glowed in the candlelight. The fabric caught her every move, making her appear far more feminine and sensuous than she would in black Hogwarts robes. She looked straight ahead, ignoring everyone but Professor McGonagall, who was not bothering to hide her shock. She had expected a second year at the oldest, not a girl nearly ready for her NEWTs.

Mione Garnier reached the rickety old stool, spun on the balls of her wing-tipped high heeled shoes and perched ladylike on the edge. She removed her Beauxbatons uniform hat, letting her strawberry blond hair fall to her shoulders. McGonagall blinked back astonishment and placed the Sorting Hat on the girl’s head.

“You aren’t quite what you seem,” the hat said.

I’m aware of that, Hermione replied in her thoughts.

“You’ve already been sorted into Gryf–“

No! I cannot be in Gryffindor…or Slytherin.

“Why limit yourself?”

Please, just stick with Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. Better yet, she thought, can you just put me in Hufflepuff. No one spectacular ever came from Hufflepuff. I’ll be safe there.

“Are you sure? A mind like yours needs a challenge. Hufflepuff can’t offer you that.”

I’m going to be challenged enough just being here, thank you.

“If you’re sure…

“HUFFLEPUFF!”  The hat called.

Hermione had sat through six sorting ceremonies, and she was certain she had never heard the Hufflepuffs cheer so loudly, nor seen the other house tables seem so disappointed to lose a student. Mione Garnier sure was popular. She rose delicately and made her way to the Hufflepuff table, where several sixth and seventh year boys made room for her. She nodded politely and remained standing behind the bench as Dumbledore stood to speak his welcome.

“Welcome to a new year! Before we sit down,” he nodded to Mione, “I would like to welcome you with a few words: Nimbit, hoffle, tongland. Thank you.” He sat and so did Hermione.

“Why did you stand?” a girl asked.

“At Beauxbatons, we remain standing when the Headmistress stands, we sit only when she sits,” Mione told them. She had read every book there was to find on the school when she first got her letter from Hogwarts. She knew every official rule and custom there was to know about the school.

“Wow. I can’t imagine doing that here,” someone replied.

“How’s the food at Beauxbatons?” a jolly voice cried from above. The Fat Friar, a ghost Hermione had never bothered speaking to since he was not a resident of her house, was floating merrily above them.

“Fantastic, of course,” Mione replied. “Delicious, but,” she plucked a slice of chicken breast from the table in front of her and eyed the heavy cream sauce warily, “much lighter.”

She gave a silent thanks to Fleur Delacour, her self-important declarations during the Triwizard Tournament and her friendly, if pretentious, conversations afterward. Without her, Hermione would be lost as to the secret details that only a true student of Beauxbatons would know. Thanks to Fleur, Hermione knew exactly where to find all of the palace’s secret passages, the best place to study on a hot day and where to get the finest chocolates in the nearby village.

“You don’t have much of an accent,” one Hufflepuff observed.

“We study English as well as magic at Beauxbatons.”

“What year are you in?”

“My sixth and final year.”

“We have seven years here at Hogwarts.”

“Well, then I shall be an exceptional sixth year,” Mione smiled and placed a tiny bite of chicken into her mouth.

Dinner was a painfully slow affair. Her stomach was in knots by the time the plates cleared and Dumbledore gave them a proper welcome. She stood when he did, determined to maintain the illusion of Beauxbatons even if her muscles were aching from worried tension. Hearing his voice was calming and comforting. So long as he was there at Hogwarts, she knew she was safe from the Dark that would use her knowledge to unmake the future. So long as she was Mione Garnier, a French exchange student, she was safe. Even if it tore her insides to shreds from worry that she would say the wrong things.

She remembered Professor Snape; lies slid from his lips like air and he had survived over a decade among the Dark wizards, spying for the Light. She couldn’t imagine it. She adjusted her already perfect posture to look at the Slytherin table. In the dim light and sea of black robes, she couldn’t make out his form.

“Mione, I’ll show you to the sixth year dorms,” a Hufflepuff girl smiled and waved her forward. “I’m Edlyn,” the girl reminded her. “Edlyn Noble.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Mione smiled genuinely. She didn’t say much more. She didn’t dare to; she was tired and feared she might slip up if she tried to carry on a real conversation.

Edlyn led her through the entrance hall, taking her hand so she wouldn’t be separated in the crowd. Only the first years were brought out early and shown the way to the dormitories. Mione had to leave with the mass of students, all of whom moved with purpose and excitement and more than a little rudeness to get to their respective dorms. If Edlyn had not offered to help, Hermione would have been lost in the chaos; she followed the girl down into a basement corridor near the kitchens, where she had often visited the free House Elves, Dobby and Winkie, and tried to inspire insurrection in the others. She wondered if their predecessors would be more open to the idea of being free.

“Dedication,” Edlyn said to a painting, which nodded and slid aside for them. “That’s the password. Try to remember it, but if you ask nicely, he’ll let you in anyway now that he’s seen your face.”

Hermione nodded, but fought the desire to yell. What was the point of having a password if asking nicely would get you in? Hufflepuff nonsense.

She found her bed in the sixth year girls’ dorm. It was a soft, warm mattress surrounded by yellow curtains. Every instinct told her to fall into it and sleep the next twenty years away, but she resisted. A Beauxbatons girl would never sleep in her silk uniform dress. She hung her hat on the rack near her bed, and changed from blue silk to blue satin. As gorgeous and feminine as both the silk and satin felt, she would have welcomed the comfort of a flannel nightshirt, but appearances had to be maintained. A quick flick of the wand magically vanished her makeup and she wished the girls a good night before falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.

oOo

Hermione didn’t care much for being the centre of attention. Dumbledore assured her that the interest would wane with the first Quidditch game of the season. She hoped he was right. The idea of being constantly under scrutiny was unnerving. It was like having Rita Skeeter and her Quick Quill pen following her around all day. Students of every year and sex approached her with questions. She tried to remain aloof, but couldn’t stand being rude. She gave them as brief an answer as possible, never breaking her stride.

It was strange the way the students treated her, like something special. They parted before her as she walked, some falling into step beside her to talk but more often just to watch her from the corner of their eye. Those students she felt justified in ignoring.

She ate breakfast with Edlyn and her sixth year friends, Una and Pamela. Despite a twenty-year difference, Hermione found the girls’ conversation to be comfortingly familiar. They talked of classes, clothes and boys. Of course their primary focus was on classes, since they began their first class that morning, but boys held their own in the conversation. Two boys, specifically: James Potter and Sirius Black. When Una whispered the names to Mione, the Hufflepuff girl glances back over her shoulder. Mione followed her eye and saw the two sixth year boys lounging at the Gryffindor table. She almost lost her composure when she saw James Potter. He looked so much like Harry, except Harry would never lounge in the Great Hall. She didn’t think she had ever seen Harry lounge anywhere, not even in the comfortable chairs by the fire in the Gryffindor common room. James, however, was a lounger; he had one foot up on the bench and was leaning his weight against another handsome, black-haired boy. Sirius, she noted, looked far different than the man she would know. He was broad and muscular; his face handsomer than she had ever seen it, and untouched by pain. She knew him after he had matured and suffered false imprisonment. He had died only last year, she remembered and wanted to cry. He was a good man and would have been a good Godfather to Harry.

As she watched, Sirius smirked across the aisles at a Ravenclaw girl, who fumbled with her knife and fork. This boy was clearly not the Sirius Black she knew, not yet. She wondered when they changed, James and Sirius. At what moment had they stopped being this and turned into what she knew. What had happened?

Her thoughts were derailed when Sirius turned his grey eyes on her. He smirked. She didn’t jerk her eyes away, much as she wanted to. Instead gave a polite and noncommittal nod and a smile she would give a new acquaintance before she turned back to Una and Edlyn’s conversation.

The boy was taken aback. When he smirked at a girl, she at least had the decency to drop a fork in shock. “What do you know about Beauxbatons?” Sirius asked his friends.

“I heard they give girls classes in feminine wiles,” Peter stifled a giggle.

“Feminine wiles?” James threw a roll at him.

“Well how else would you explain… _that_ ,” he waved a pudgy hand at Mione Garnier. She sat with perfect posture, her blue silk jacket flatteringly tailored over her curves; her hair was smoothed into a ladylike chignon at the nape of her neck, which somehow made her look unbelievably appealing.

“Wonder what other feminine wiles they teach them,” Sirius narrowed his eyes at the girl as she stood and smoothed the silk dress over her hips.

“Shouldn’t they have transfigured her some robes for the first day?” Remus asked tiredly. The Prefect was still recovering from his time of the month, and was a little short-tempered because of it. He really didn’t need further distracting by some silken French girl.

“You have no priorities, Moony,” James said.

“I do,” he corrected. “They are just very different from yours.”

“Class,” Sirius reminded them, and pulled James from the bench by his boots. Somehow the wild-haired, bespectacled boy made falling on his ass look wickedly cool. He jumped up, shoved his hands deep into his pockets and strolled out of the Great Hall.

 

 


	4. Same, Yet Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the real test begins.

Hermione had been certain that the scheduling and pairing of houses in each class had been set since the school was founded, but here, in 1976, the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins were paired for Double Potions and not the Gryffindors and Slytherins as it was in her time. Given the intense rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, she wondered why those two houses had ever been paired at all. That particular coupling had come with the arrival of Professor Severus Snape as a way to deny Gryffindor house as many points as possible. The sudden change had met with no small amount of vexation from the other professors, especially those who suspected his intentions.

The sixth year Hufflepuffs and Slytherins had a completely different dynamic. There were no vicious glares or veiled threats. They weren’t even standing stubbornly on opposite sides of the corridor. The industrious and open-minded Badgers chatted with their cunning counterparts. They talked of Quidditch, NEWT level classes, and the dangerous events happening in the outside world. The Slytherins talked approvingly of the Death Eaters and their behaviour. If the Hufflepuffs disapproved, they didn’t let on. Perhaps it was the twenty-year gap, but Hermione was amazed at how likeable some of the Slytherins seemed. In her own time she felt that every single one of the Slytherins was in some way disconcerting.

“Did your parents attend Beauxbatons?” asked a Slytherin named Reginald. It was a sly way of asking if she was a pureblood witch.

“But of course,” she lied smoothly.

“And your grandparents, too, I suppose.”

“We believe so.”

“Believe so? You don’t know?”

“They died when my parents were both infants –in Grindelwald’s war,” replied Mione smoothly. It was a skilfully noncommittal reply; the Slytherins could take whatever meaning they wished from it. Her grandparents could have been Muggle-borns killed by the Dark wizard. They could have been purebloods that fought for his cause or purebloods that fought against it.

The classroom door opened before Reginald could inquire further. Professor Horace Slughorn appeared in the doorway, not quite preceded by his stomach. Hermione was glad that he returned to teaching in her time because she would have had a hard time taking him seriously if this was her first viewing of him. His large body was clothed in brocade and velvet that coordinated to perfection; his buttons were polished to a mirror shine; the ends of his moustache waxed into old fashioned curls. He looked as if he spent more time dressing than brewing potions. As if aware that everyone was admiring his appearance, he jutted out his chest and chin with pride.

“Good morning, good morning,” he called to them, the ends of his moustache dancing as merrily as his jowls.  He gestured them inside. It would take more than a congenial professor to make the dungeon classroom welcoming. Snape was not even of age in 1976, but the dungeon still felt the same as when he loomed, dark and menacing, over them in the 1990s.

The students filed in and claimed tables and stools. It seemed the pleasant blending of the two houses did not end at the door. The Hufflepuff and Slytherin students mixed together at tables. Perhaps the cunning Snakes had learned to take advantage of the Badger’s dedication to hard work, or maybe it was nothing so contrived; maybe they simply got on well. It was hard for her to imagine Slytherins getting on well with anyone but themselves, but she had five years of less than pleasant experiences that made her understandably prejudiced toward them.

“Ah, Miss Garnier, Mione,” Slughorn smiled and took her hand in both of his. “Bienvenue.”

“Merci.”

“To help you get acquainted with the Hogwarts way,” he guided her through the classroom, “I thought we would pair you with our most skilled potions student.” He stopped at a table, empty but for a single student, who sat hunched over a book. The boy’s long hair fell into his eyes as he leaned in to read his Potions textbook.

“Severus,” Slughorn said.

At his name, the boy looked up, younger, thinner, but unmistakably Severus Snape. Hermione screamed and swore in her head; had this not been exactly what she had been trying to avoid when she placed herself in Hufflepuff? What had the pompous old fool been thinking? Outwardly, however, she nodded a polite ‘hello’ and set her book down on the table.

“Professor Snape,” she said, and immediately froze.

Slughorn laughed. “We have to work on your English, my dear. Severus may be good, but he’s not the Professor.” Mione nodded and blushed at her faux pas.

“Help the girl get settle if you would, Severus,” he patted the boy on the shoulder and moved to the front of the room. As soon as he had moved on, Snape turned away from her and went back to his book, making notes in the margins with his quill. She was glad she wasn’t dependent on him to know what to do. Still, she supposed it could be worse. He could be insulting her as he did in her time. She focused hard on anything but young Mr Snape and found a cauldron bubbling and steaming beside her. 

She remembered her first day of NEWT level Potions; Slughorn had presented cauldrons of advanced potions, quizzed them on the contents and tested their ability to make one such potion. Harry had plainly cheated when he followed the scribbled directions in the margins. She looked over at Snape, writing his own amendments to the potion instructions in his textbook. Snape, the most talented potioneer Hogwarts had seen in one hundred years. Snape, his Potions OWL and NEWT levels still unrivalled after twenty years. Snape, scribbling notes in his margins. Could Snape’s book be the one that helped Harry?

Sensing her eyes on him, Severus glared over his shoulder at her. As with Sirius, she didn’t turn away, but nodded her head and smiled civilly. She was new, foreign and certainly not someone who had suffered his insults for the past five years, she reminded herself. He narrowed his cold black eyes, trying to determine if she was mocking him with her smiles, then turned back to his book.

“Mione, my dear,” Slughorn appeared at her side, a set of scales and a cauldron in his hands. “Headmaster told me you had some difficulties transporting your belongings from France. You may borrow these until you manage to collect your own.”

“Merci.”

“Now then,” Slughorn spoke clearly, drawing attention from around the room. “I have prepared a few potions for you, just to observe and identify. These are just a few of the potions that you will be able to brew after completing this course.” The other students edged closer to the cauldrons. Mione did the same, though with little interest. She already knew what to expect. Horace Slughorn, it seemed, was the sort of professor who refused to alter his lesson plans after his first year of teaching.

“Who can tell me what this one is?” He looked around and saw mild interest and a few daring, though uncertain, hands rise. “Mione?”

She hadn’t even had her hand raised. Still, she looked to the cauldron, saw the mother-of-pearl sheen and spiralling steam and knew it was Amortentia. Hermione Granger would have blurted the answer out, but what would Mione Garnier do? She was in her final year at Beauxbatons, so surely she would know this potion. But was Mione a good student? Dumbledore had asked her to make herself less accomplished while in the past, but to what degree?

“That is Amortentia,” Mione said slowly, adding, “I believe.”

“You believe correctly, my dear,” he smiled and narrowed his eyes at her. “Can you identify this one?” It was Veritaserum, looking as much like a pot of hot water as anything else. He was testing her, she knew, seeing if she was worth adding to his collection.

 It took everything she had to look at the cauldron’s contents and look puzzled. “That is just water.”

“Not so, my dear,” Slughorn looked disappointed. “Severus, can you help our new student identify this potion?”

“That is Veritaserum,” Snape said quietly, his voice nearly as deep as it was in adulthood. “Colourless and odourless, it can be added to any liquid imbibed and will force the drinker to speak the truth.”

“Correct, as usual.”

“Who knows this potion?” He gestured to another cauldron. “Miss Garnier?”

“It looks like my mother’s clam stew,” Mione quipped.

“Polyjuice,” Snape muttered under his breath.

“But I believe it is Polyjuice Potion,” she added quickly.

“Correct,” Slughorn beamed. “What is Polyjuice Potion used for? Mione?”

“It allows the drinker to take on the physical appearance of another,” she replied without Snape’s prompting, earning a smile and ten points from the Professor and a suspicious glance from Severus.

“Very good. Now—“

“Professor, you forgot the one on your desk,” Una said.

It was all exactly like his first lesson in 1996. Hermione was starting to wonder if he didn’t tell a particular student to mention the last cauldron for a bride of house points. It was too dramatic; the timing too perfect. He went on about Felix Felicis, it uses and regulations. She had heard it before and paid little attention to it this time around. Snape’s suddenly improved posture, however, did not go unnoticed by her.

Again, the assignment was the Draught of Living Death. She had been second only to Harry in that assignment thanks to his cheating. At the end of the lesson, she would know for certain if his book really had been Professor Snape’s.

She set to work chopping and grating the ingredients precisely as the book recommended. She glanced over and saw Snape altering his methods and yielding results equal to Harry’s. She wanted to know where he learned it, but knew better than to ask. Even as a youth, she anticipated his tongue to be acidic and quick to attack. She was struggling to keep up with Snape. All his shortcuts gave him clear advantage, which greatly annoyed her. She would love nothing more than to be able to say that she was a better potioneer than Severus Snape, but her potion was a vivid purple where Snape’s was a pale lilac and growing lighter with every clockwise stir.

“Time is up, stop stirring!” Slughorn announced. “Very impressive, Mione, but our winner.”

Slughorn clapped a hand on Snape’s back and handed him the small vial of Liquid Luck. Hermione was afraid to know what a teenage Snape would do with such a potion. She shook her head. It did not concern her. She was an anthropologist, observing with the minimal amount of interference. She may have to sit next to him in class, but clearly Snape had no inclination to speak to her so she would not speak to him, ask him questions or bother him in any way. Even if she was dying to know how he knew what to do to make his potion so much better, she would keep her mouth shut.

“Mione,” Edlyn came up. “How does your hair still look so good?” The girl looked as if she had stuck her finger in an electrical socket, her hair stood on end from the humidity rolling off so many hot cauldrons. Hermione’s hand flew to her hair, still smooth against her head. Transfiguration really was magic if it could turn her notoriously bushy, tangled mess into something other girls envied. Snape snorted his disapproval at their vanities and brushed past them to leave the room, Luck in hand.

“I feel so sorry for you, being paired with Severus,” Una said as they left.

“He does not speak to me, so I see no problem in the arrangement,” replied Mione.

“Still, he’s so ugly,” Pamela whispered, afraid who might overhear. Apparently, the Hufflepuff open-mindedness didn’t apply to looks. Mione shrugged gracefully and continued to walk.

“I wish I had more NEWT classes with Gryffindor,” Pamela sighed. “Maybe I could pair with Sirius.”

“Is he any good at his studies?” Mione asked.

“I… I don’t know…” Pamela admitted. All she ever thought about when Sirius came to mind was his face and thick, dark hair, his grey eyes and the way his laugh filled the Great Hall. She wanted to know more about him, but was too afraid to speak to him.

The girls walked in silent contemplation up to the Great Hall for lunch. Mione certainly didn’t mean to set the girls questioning the intelligence of their crushes, but brains where what she valued. Although, she did admit that other qualities could make up for any deficiencies – courage, loyalty, a sense of humour. Her mind wandered to her own time and the boys she knew who possessed such qualities. Harry was courageous and loyal, but she didn’t fancy him. Ron certainly had a sense of humour and courage; his loyalty could falter at times, but he always came through. He certainly wasn’t the brightest boy of her acquaintance, but she still liked him. She felt a blush touch her cheeks at the thought.

“That colour looks good on you.”

The Hufflepuff girls stopped, Una and Pamela sighed as one. Hermione thought it was too cartoonish, but said nothing. The object of their affection, Sirius Black, was leaning on the carved stone doorframe of the Great Hall. His lips curled up in a sexy grin, not in reaction to the Hufflepuff sixth year girls or even in an attempt to be sexy; it was simply how he grinned.

“That colour looks good on you,” he repeated, looking at Mione.

“It is the Beauxbatons colour—“

“No, I mean the blush,” he touched her flushed cheek with a finger causing her companions to descend into fits of apoplectics as if he had touched them personally.

“Merci,” she replied coolly, stepped around him and walked into the Great Hall with all the dignity she could muster, assisted by one year of childhood ballet but mostly by Dumbledore’s grace charm, leaving the comely Gryffindor to stare at her in wonder.


	5. Conflicted Schedule

It was a test.

Hermione could think of no other explanation than that this was all a test. Dumbledore was testing her ability to remain aloof and silent.

No, she thought, that is nonsense. Professor Dumbledore has no idea which people will be present in my future life. Perhaps if I had given him a list of the students I wished to avoid…then I would have handed him a list of who was important in the future. No. Better to suffer through this.

It was still hard to believe that the schedule wasn’t deliberate. There was no other way to explain how she kept sitting in a classroom beside Severus Snape. She could not know that Slughorn, ever the proud and boastful professor, spent the weekend after the first potions class proclaiming Mione a cure to what ailed young Severus; the boy had sat beside her for the full Double Potions without insulting her once, or at least not insulting her severely enough to warrant a retaliatory hex. Severus hadn’t managed that since his second year. So on Monday evening Professor Sinistra sent Mione to stargaze with the dark young man during the midnight Astronomy class. They said nothing to one another, yet managed to come to an arrangement on how to share a single telescope between them. Encouraged by Slughorn and Sinistra’s results, even Professor McGonagall sat her beside the dark and taciturn wizard. At this rate, she would have no choice but to speak to him, if only to ask him to pass the sextant.

Remus Lupin, the werewolf who remained the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher she had ever had, was seated beside her in Runes and DADA. He was the brightest and hardest working Gryffindor in his year and, therefore, the most suited to assist her in learning the Hogwarts way. He was pleasant enough, and Hermione found it very difficult to remain cool toward him. She wanted so badly to ask him questions, but she forced herself to remain silent. She also had to force her arms to remain at her sides whenever the professors asked questions; by the end of either class, she could feel herself shaking with the effort.

“I don’t know how things work at Beauxbatons,” Remus said after DADA. “But here at Hogwarts, we generally get house points for answering questions correctly in class.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“Then you should stop fighting to keep your hand down and win Hufflepuff some points,” he advised. “They need all they can get.”

I’d love to, but I don’t have much choice in the matter, now do I, Professor? she thought and remembered Dumbledore’s seemingly impossible request.

_“I’m afraid I have to ask you to do something very difficult,” Dumbledore had said. His tone as serious as she had ever heard it, though his eye still held a small twinkle. “I must ask you not to distinguish yourself academically in this time.”_

_“You want me to do_ poorly _?!” She had balked._

_“Not at all, I want you to perform in an average way.”_

_“It’s the same thing!”_

_“It is vital that you go unnoticed,” Dumbledore had insisted._

Unnoticed? She was nothing but noticeable. Even after a week students still doubled back in the hallways just to stare at her. It took five years and a twenty-year time journey to fully appreciate how difficult Harry’s life had been at Hogwarts. She stood out in her blue Beauxbatons uniform, more like haute couture than a school robe. Her heels clicked on the stones and announced her arrival to the boys anxious to win her attention. Even her accent was unique. She had been noticed, so what did it matter if she answered some questions correctly, too.

Still the Prefect, however, she followed the rules given to her directly from the Headmaster, kept her hand and head down, her answers brief.

oOo

Thursday she had only one class, Charms, again with the Gryffindors. Much as she wanted to act as unlike herself as possible, she found that by arriving a solid thirty minutes before class began, as she would have in her own time, she could avoid all the awkward stares. More importantly she could avoid Sirius Black, who had taken to leaving breakfast at exactly the same time she did so that he could walk beside her for most of the way. She found this particularly strange since he seemed the sort to sit back and let the adoration come to him, a charming lay about. When he had to walk with his friends, he had to sit with them, rather than try to sit with her.

“Miss Evans,” Professor Flitwick’s voice called Hermione back to the reality of the room around her, which was filling with students; she couldn’t see Sirius, but heard his barking laughter from somewhere behind her. She looked to Flitwick, just as energetic in this time as in her day. The diminutive professor was gesturing excitedly to another student, “Do come and sit with Miss Garnier.”

Mione saw the girl’s flaming hair and felt an immediate pang of loss. This could easily have been a Weasley, and her heart ached to be nearer to the redheads she knew and loved. This could not possibly be a Weasley, however much she looked like one; Arthur and Molly had graduated Hogwarts years before and it would be some time before their oldest boy would start his first year. This girl was just a redhead.

A sigh of relief escaped her as the girl settled in beside her. After the five previous classes struggling to avoid conversation with Lupin or keep from irritating Snape, she welcomed the chance to actually talk to her partner. Miss Evans, just a redhead Gryffindor, turned her eyes to Mione. The sigh stuck in her throat and turned into a lump that threatened to choke her. Impossibly green, almond-shaped eyes stared at her. She had seen them for years in another face, in another time. Harry’s eyes. Miss Evans, Harry’s mother.

“I’m Lily,” she smiled. “Some people just call me Evans.”

It took her a moment to process. Lily Evans, Harry’s mum who had died protecting him from a killing curse, was sitting beside her in Charms class. She had known Sirius personally, so his attempts at starting conversation were not so off putting as this, but James and Lily had turned into mythical beings in her mind. They were legends in the wizarding world, not people to chat with. She had seen James lounging and showing off his reflexes in the back of Runes and DADA, but he had not spoken to her directly. To have this girl, discussed at length in every modern book about major magical events, try to speak to her as a friend and classmate made Hermione’s mind grind and steam.

She focused her brilliant brain, the scourge of Slytherin in her time, and managed to find an appropriate response. “Mione Garnier. Pleasure to meet you,” she nodded and pulled out her Charms textbooks.

“I’m curious,” Lily whispered while Professor Flitwick began taking roll, “what are OWLs like at Beauxbatons?”

“Not so dissimilar to those here, as I understand them,” Mione whispered back.

“I just wondered, since you’re in almost every NEWT class.”

Mione just nodded, not sure how to respond.

This was definitely a test. The presence of Lily Evans was final proof.

oOo

With Friday’s Double Potions and midnight Astronomy, her torturous week would finally be over. She sank onto the bench at lunch, exhausted. Edlyn, Una and Pamela assumed it was the stress of dealing with Severus Snape for so long that morning. They were so prejudiced against him that she didn’t bother denying it. The truth was that Snape was a fine partner in Potions. He spoke only as much as was necessary and, since she was so used to his cutting words, she was able to take his admonitions for what they were–good, sound potions advice. She still didn’t know how he managed the results he did, where he learned it. She was a book learner, after all, so the idea of being innately talented in a given field was as much nonsense as Divination.

Remus, too, was a good partner. He corrected her English only when it affected the meaning of a translation in Runes, and he could, if she let him, keep her attention for hours talking about the history and uses of any given hex. He was far more interesting to listen to than the actual Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. She missed him as a teacher. When she made it back to her time, she would send him a letter telling him as much.

The trick of it would be getting back to her own time, still some twenty years away. She had made a study schedule for herself that would allow her to complete her readings and homework during the week, giving her the time to research magical means of time travel on the weekends. She had only to complete her eighteen inches of parchment dissecting the ingredients of Veritaserum and the order and form in which they were added, and she would be free to go to the library that very night.

The Hufflepuffs thought they knew what hard work was. Looking at Mione, they felt shamed. 


	6. Selfish Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sirius is jealous, James has rubbish penmanship and Hermione decides to make nice with the boys.

Hermione finally realised why Professor Dumbledore had not allowed her to transfigure her robes back to basic Hogwarts black. He wanted her to stand apart as something different.

At first this was counterintuitive to his telling her to go unnoticed as the dressy blue uniform made her conspicuous among the students, but, while she was at first a curiosity, the Hogwarts students had eventually recognised that Mione was something apart from them, too different to be understood easily or befriended quickly. Most got tired of trying and treated her like any other Hufflepuff. A few persisted in trying, but when she returned their continued attempts at courting with cool civility, even they gave up. The calendar had not yet turned from September, the first Quidditch game was over a month away, and Mione Garnier was able to settle comfortably into a routine.

Sirius Black, however, continued to be an issue. He was so used to the Hogwarts girls just falling for him with no effort on his part that he took it as a personal affront that Mione flatly refused to swoon over him. She smiled politely and spoke pleasantries, but nothing more. It had turned from a game of cat and mouse into a matter of personal pride to the Gryffindor. He saw the way she chatted casually with the Hufflepuffs. She spoke civilly, if briefly, to Evans and to Remus, and, from what he could gather from Una and Pamela between fits of giggles and contented sighs, she even was on speaking terms with Severus Snape.

“She talks to _Snivellus_ but not to me?” Sirius all but punched his fist through stone wall of the Gryffindor common room. “That’s it. The straw that broke the Hippogriff’s back.”

He stopped pacing, claimed the centre of the common room, which was blessedly empty; there would be no one outside the Marauders to witness him embarrassing himself. His fist raised high in a dramatic oath to the heavens, he proclaimed: “That damned French girl will be mine!”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” James replied, not really listening.

“And you just volunteered to help,” Sirius informed him.

“Yeah, whatever you say.”

“What I need is information.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just being nice doesn’t work on her. I need to know what she likes so I can talk to her about it.”

“Have Moony talk to her for you,” Peter said. Unlike James, he was actually listening.

“Why _does_ she talk to Moony and not to me?”

“Maybe because I’m not trying to get my hands up her skirt,” Remus replied drily. He was pale and looked more tired than usual. The full moon was coming; his body was preparing for the change and he was fighting it every minute of the day. Ignorant of his friend’s condition or just so used to it and to the mood swings that accompanied it, Sirius waved the comment away.

“I could scurry over to the Hufflepuff dorms,” Peter suggested helpfully, his eyes glittering with the possibilities of what he might accidentally see while on his fact-finding mission.

Sirius turned and looked, unblinking, into his friend’s eyes. “I will in no way condone your randy fantasies, Wormtail.” His words and tone were hard, but Peter saw the glint in his grey eyes and the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. It was all the approval he needed.

“You’re right,” Peter said, his voice sullen. He hung his head to keep the others from seeing his smile as he walked past them toward the portrait hole.

“You know he’s going to go to the Hufflepuff girls’ washroom, right?” Remus sighed.

“I take no responsibility for his actions,” Sirius shrugged. “I told him not to. You heard me, right?”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” James replied mechanically.

oOo

Wednesday was as bright and beautiful as the day Hermione had travelled back in time. She had Defence Against the Dark Arts, again with the Gryffindors, and she hoped that the sudden return of summery weather would inspire Sirius, James and Remus to skip class. Well, Sirius and James, anyway. Hermione could not imagine Lupin ditching class to loll about in the sunshine. Besides, his presence in class was not too difficult to deal with. He was so studious that she had no fear of his attentions having alternative implications.

Entering the Great Hall for breakfast, she saw that her hopes had been at least partially fulfilled—the Gryffindor foursome was missing two members. Sirius and Remus were absent from their table, leaving James to show off to his heart’s content for Peter Pettigrew. Pamela and Una whined that the broad-shouldered and handsome Gryffindor was absent; Hermione wondered if Lupin had harmed his friend during his night as a werewolf. As worried as she was, she was comforted by their absence. She was able to eat in peace without the predatory stares of the Animagus on her.

Remus wasn’t beside her in DADA that morning, either. She saw Sirius stagger in barely on time and slump into the seat next to James. He looked as if he hadn’t slept all night, which was entirely possible if he had been entertaining a werewolf through the full moon hours. His half-lidded eyes and dishevelled clothes only served to make him more attractive to the females in the room though he was far too tired to appreciate it. He slumped against the front of Hermione’s desk.

“Moony?” James muttered.

“Sleeping it off,” Sirius replied. “Last night seemed more difficult.”

“I’ll take tonight’s shift,” James promised him with a slap on the boy’s back.

“If I snore, distract Flitwick.”

James didn’t bother telling him that they weren’t in Charms class, but said, “What are mates for?”

Seeing him crumpled on her desk like a discarded bit of parchment, Hermione remembered the Sirius she would know and mourn with Harry. He was a good man, who fought with a Hufflepuff’s loyalty and a Gryffindor’s courage. She may not like the boy but she admired the man, and right now he was more like that man than she had seen all month. She whispered a charm and waved her wand at him beneath her desk, surrounding him within a Muffliato bubble to drowned out the noise of the lesson and allow him to sleep.

Hermione felt fully justified in shirking her Prefect duties and letting Sirius doze through class. Glancing down at James’s notes midway through class, however, she questioned the wisdom of her decision. She thought Harry’s penmanship was bad, his father’s was atrocious. It made sense to James, but it certainly didn’t make sense to her. If Lupin had any hope of completing his NEWT in Defence Against the Dark Arts with Outstanding and going on to become her favourite teacher in the subject, then he would need better notes than James could provide. A quick look at Pettigrew’s notes showed he was no help, either, though she didn’t expect much from a murder, traitor and rat like him. She focused on the lesson, taking meticulous notes.

Remus was absent in Charms, too, though not so noticeably since he was not seated directly next to her. She paid close attention and took perfectly legible notes, if one could read French. As she left the room with Edlyn, she noticed Sirius trying to shake James awake before Flitwick noticed. She smiled at how much like Harry and Ron they were as she walked past.

oOo

Her fifth weekend in 1976 marked the beginning of October. She celebrated in her usual way, by studying in the library. Standing amid the tomes, she heard barely stifled voices nearby. She assumed it was students up to no good and the Prefect in her marched over to confront them. Before she had fully turned the corner, she saw James, Sirius and Peter arguing over their class notes. She quickly ducked back behind the huge bookcase and listened.

“Is that ‘indicated by a grey tuft’?” James squinted at the parchment.

“No, ‘instigated by a great aft’,” Sirius said.

“What’s an aft?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know,” James said.

“They’re your notes! How can you not know?” Sirius punched him in the arm.

Remus was quiet even as they bickered; he was still recovering from his transformation, which had left him anaemic. He was trying to read his DADA book to give him some perspective on the scribbled and illegible notes his friends had taken.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief and went to her own table at the opposite end of the library. She put down her theoretical magic of time travel books; she had been surprised by how many the library had on the topic, but she was dismayed that most were useless. The few practical application tests were reported to have ended in the death or serious injury of the experimenters. If she could only get her hands on some of the data used to develop the Time-Turner, she could easily manufacture her own, but since the devices were being created at the Ministry of Magic under the utmost secrecy, she had little hope of it. If Harry and his invisibility cloak were here, she was sure they could get in somehow.

James was here and he doubtless had the cloak at school.

No, she told herself. You will not make friends with Harry’s dad just to use his cloak. That is wrong. That is interfering. That is against Dumbledore’s rules. Even if it might be the only chance you have of getting home before you do serious damage to the timeline.

She found herself staring past her books, through the shelves to the table with the squabbling Gryffindors. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the implications of befriending Harry’s dad. She had seen him eying Lily Evans, Harry’s mum, so she was sure there was no chance that she would accidentally prevent Harry’s parents falling in love. Realising how cold it was to even think it, she knew that they died shortly after his first birthday, so even if she made an impression on James as a friend, he would not be able to pass that information on to Harry. The only real problem lay in his friends, Remus, Sirius and Peter. Peter had made no advances on her, nor would she accept them if he had. She hated him even if he wasn’t yet the man whose betrayal resulted in the Potters’ deaths. Remus also made no advances that weren’t of a strictly friendly and academic nature. It was Sirius that would cause the trouble. Always Sirius, she narrowed her eyes at him.

En enfer avec lui, she thought and then wondered when she had started thinking in French as well as writing in it.

If Sirius wanted to keep making an ass of himself, he would regardless of her friendliness toward James. Actually, being a friend might prevent his continued flirtations. Most people had rules about dating friends. She saddened at the thought. What if Ron had such a rule?

She pushed aside her melancholy and her theory books and brought the parchments containing her class notes from her bag. She took out her quill and ink and fresh parchment. It took only an hour for her to transcribe her Charms and DADA notes from French to English. She considered magically copying a second scroll of each to give to James and Sirius, but decided against it. Small steps were better; she would befriend James through his friend Remus.


	7. Word Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Snape is a jackass and Sirius notices Hermione's tell.

James was standing over Sirius, the larger boy’s shirt fisted in one hand, the other hand pulled back ready to strike a blow. Hermione found it hard to believe the boys, best friends from what she had seen and been told, would come to blows over poor penmanship. She also found it hard to believe that James thought he had a chance at inflicting any damage on Sirius. The Chaser was short, barely taller than she was, and skinny, where his friend was broad and clearly well-muscled. This inequity of size and strength must have been why Sirius was not fighting back. He knew he could easily hurt his friend.

Mione cleared her throat. “Am I interrupting?”

Sirius threw James off him, and hurried to fix his shirt. “No,” he replied causally. “We’re just studying.”

“Bien sûr,” she glanced down at the notes. “I find being able to read my notes a great aid in studying, don’t you?” Remus snorted a laugh into his textbook.

“Remus, I noticed you were absent from class. I thought you might need notes, and I appear to have been correct.” She held out the roll of parchment. He took it in his thin pale fingers and unrolled it. Her writing was small and precise, every date and name accurate. “I have double-checked the spellings in the books, they are correct.”

“Thank you,” Remus smiled.

“Yes, thank you,” James nodded enthusiastically.

She let her smile show some friendliness, though she kept her eyes on Remus and James to keep Sirius from getting any ideas. She turned back to Lupin, “Feel better.”

When she was seated at her own table again, Remus declared half-joking, “I love that girl.”

“Sorry, mate, already claimed her,” Sirius flashed a wolfish grin.

“When you both fail miserably to win her attention and if it doesn’t work out with Evans…” James nodded with self-confidence.  

oOo

James elbowed into the seat beside Mione the following Monday. He made easy work of it, being so accustomed to fighting through unyielding crowds after years of playing Chaser for Gryffindor’s Quidditch team. Sirius, by contrast, just had to stroll through, his size and charisma parting the students ahead so that he could sit beside James. Peter had failed to make the score on his OWLs and could not attend the NEWT level Runes class; the cunning Animagus had only managed three NEWT level classes, Defence Against the Dark Arts the only one he shared with Mione. He was bitterly disappointed that he had not tried harder now that something so pretty was there for him to miss. So he transformed into his rat and sat beneath the lectern in her classes.

He noticed how she would glance sideways at James, a sad expression on her face. It wasn’t like the hopeful and slightly disappointed looks most girls gave him, knowing that they didn’t have a chance of dating him. Mione’s look was different, like she was pining for something she had lost.

“She’s homesick,” Remus had said when Peter mentioned it. “James probably just looks like somebody she knew back home.”

“Something to ask her about later,” Sirius had noted aloud. He was still developing a list of things to use in conversation with the girl. Her yielding to James and Remus’s friendship made his job much simpler.

He now knew she was ridiculously studious, putting even Remus to shame. She enjoyed DADA and Transfiguration most of her subjects, though she disapproved of how Professor Morven taught DADA. She was entirely dismissive of prophecy and divination, and hated subjects that could only be learned through hands-on application like flying; she was a book-learner. She was tight-lipped about her previous life, happily telling them everything there was to know about Beauxbatons while sharing nothing about her friends there. She also appeared to seriously dislike Peter. Sirius thought it might be vanity—Peter was short, fat and often too much like his Animagus form—but he considered that she was willing to talk to Snivellus. That connection still irritated him and also shot a hole in his vanity theory since the greasy git was more spider than human.

He was dying to know who James reminded her of and he got his first clue one morning.

“How’s our hairy little friend today?” Sirius asked Remus conversationally. It was nearing his time of the month, and after September’s hard transformation he wanted to make sure Remus was prepared.

Those who bothered listening close enough to hear him refer to Remus’ little problem, would laughed or asked what his dog’s name was. His question had an interesting effect on Mione, one he had not expected. She froze in her seat, her spinal column suddenly fixed in a perfect line. He could see the muscles in her neck straining to keep her head from turning, but her eyes flicked toward James.

There was no way she knew of Remus’ condition, he was certain of that, but the questions had affected her. Either she had a pet she loved dearly and had to leave behind in France, or a word in the sentence hit her hard. If it was a pet, she would not have looked to James. He played the question back in his mind along with her reaction; it had not come when he started speaking, but at the word ‘hairy.’

Hairy. Harry.

After class, after she had relaxed and refocused her attention on copying the Runes from the board, after they had left and were sitting together in the library and James was copying her notes, after she had time to forget what he had asked, he looked at her and said, “How’s Harry?”

She looked as if he had hit her with a petrification hex.

“Who’s Harry?” Remus asked.

Sirius didn’t think it possible, but the girl grew more rigid. The colour had drained from her face. She resembled a poorly executed statue, one that completely failed to capture the life and beauty of its subject. She rose on stiff yet shaky legs. “Excuse me, I must go.” She left all her notes and books on the table and walked as quickly from the library as Madam Pince would allow.

“Who’s Harry?” Remus repeated.

“No idea,” Sirius leaned back in his chair. “But I don’t think I like him.”

oOo

Stupid, stupid girl, Hermione cursed herself mentally as she walked from the library.

 _Hairy_. It was just a word, like cat, book or Hinkypunk, so why did she let it upset her so visibly. If she hadn’t reacted to the simple word, a word completely devoid of meaning and importance save that it sounded like the name of her friend then Sirius would not have felt compelled to bring it up again. He was too focused on her, always nearby, always sending her a wink or a sexy grin. Why was he so obsessed? There was a score of girls, and more than a few boys, who were far prettier than she and who would have dearly loved for him to be paying so much attention to them, yet he was intent on pushing himself on someone who didn’t want him. Maybe it was that she was unobtainable. She represented a challenge, where the others did not.

“Maybe,” she muttered as she walked, “if I responded favourably, he’ll lose interest.”

“No,” she countered. “You cannot seriously be considering flirting with Harry’s Godfather. He’s dead!”

“But he’s not dead here and now,” she challenged. “Here and now he is alive and very annoying.”

“If you talked to yourself in French, you wouldn’t appear half as insane as you do now,” a deep voice informed her.

Hermione could feel her mind shattering. Not another one, she cried internally. Why me?! He doesn’t speak to me in class, why is he approaching me outside it?

“Severus,” she nodded a greeting.

“I noticed you’ve fallen for the charms of the idiot toe-rag and his friends,” Snape said without preamble.

“To which toe-rag are you referring?”

“Potter, of course,” Snape sneered the name.

“Ah,” Mione said. “No, I have not fallen for the charms of James or Sirius or that fat rodent of a boy,” Snape’s lips curled at the description of Peter Pettigrew. “What I have done is made a friend of Remus Lupin, who I don’t think could reasonably be called a toe-rag.”

Snape snorted.

“Answer me truthfully, Severus. Has Remus Lupin ever harmed you intentionally in any way?”

He didn’t answer, but she could tell by the uncomfortable shift in his posture that the answer was ‘no.’

“Has Remus Lupin ever said a harsh word against you?” Again his body language told everything. “Then, I presume, you have no issue with Remus Lupin aside from his choice of friends.”

“You presume correctly,” he replied, sounding so much like Professor Snape that she had a hard time keeping her composure.

“Severus, we have all of us had friends we regret,” she told him with confidence, thinking of Marietta Edgecomb, who betrayed Dumbledore’s Army to Dolores Umbridge the previous year. “I suggest you take the time to examine people for what they are and befriend accordingly. Excuse me.”

Severus watched her leave. The nerve of her, daring to admonish him when she was hanging around that foursome of idiots. She had the gall to tell _him_ to take a good look at people before befriending them. She was such good friends with Lupin. Passive Remus Lupin who let his friends get away with bullying. Sickly Remus Lupin who was pale and thin and covered in scars. Would she have called Lupin a friend if she knew what he became monthly?

“Maybe someone should introduce you to your new friend’s uglier half…” Snape muttered.

 

 


	8. Hidden

One o’clock. Mione pulled at the ribbon holding the parchment closed. At her slight tug the ancient fabric disintegrated. Remus laughed at her panicked expression, but bit his lip when she glared at him. He leaned over her shoulder to watch as the scroll was opened. The way Professor Bayard had talked when he passed them the scroll, Remus half expected the Runes to leap off the page and dance magically in the air before them when it was unrolled. Instead they got a face full of dust.

The scroll lay open on the table between them. It was ancient. The parchment was brittle and crumbling at the edges. Remus placed a preservation charm on it to keep it from deteriorating further. Professor Bayard had not told them the contents of the scroll; he said it was to keep them from being influenced during their work, but Remus suspected it was because the tricky old professor didn’t actually know what it was about. The scroll was written in an archaic dialect of Welsh, a language neither he nor Mione spoke. It took them the better part of their first hour to determine which dictionaries they should be translating from. Remus took the first line of Runes and set himself to deciphering them. He pulled off his robe, commenting on the heat. Mione shrugged and turned to the second line to decipher and translate.

Three o’clock. Mione pushed her stomach into the table to keep her hunger pangs at bay. It was a trick she had learned early in her second year at Hogwarts, but it didn’t seem to be as effective this afternoon. She glanced at Remus, who looked like he was fighting his own hunger. He gripped his stomach through his white shirt. She hadn’t noticed him taking off the grey jumper or rolling his sleeves up against the heat only he felt; she had been so engrossed in her work. She pushed the thought of food and Remus’ state of undress from her mind and focused on a particularly stubborn rune that didn’t appear to be in any of their dictionaries.

Four o’clock.

“Oh god,” Remus wailed. He doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach.

“Remus, what is it?” Mione held his shoulders. Beneath the shirt, she felt his muscles shifting. Her fingers moved without her permission, pushed upward with the force of the muscles growing and changing.

He pushed her away and ran for the door. His elongating fingers grasped the metal door handle, but he could not make it turn. He pulled and yanked and it still would not turn. With a shout of fury and fear he threw himself bodily at the heavy wooden door. Each time he hit it, the door shook, but did not budge. Each time he hit it, Mione saw he was larger and taller than the previous time, filling more and more of the doorway. He was growing, changing.

“Alohomora!” Mione yelled and pointed her wand to the door, but it still did not open.

“No!” Remus howled.

“Remus!” Mione had seem him transform once before, but it was dark then. Now they were in a classroom fully lit by candles. She could see his flesh turn malleable, his arms stretching out past the rolled up cuffs while the muscles bulged outward, forcing the fabric too far until it shredded around the threaded seams. His legs, too, grew longer and more muscular, tearing his pants. If he were in his human state of mind, he would have been embarrassed to be so naked in front of her. He may have been naked, but he was covered. Every hair on his body grew longer and coarser, covering his pale skin in a thick coat of golden brown fur.

It was painful to watch, but the most painful was his face. His usually gentle smile was ripped open in a grimace of pain as his bones and cartilage reformed beneath his skin.

With the very last of his consciousness, Remus managed one word, “Run.”

She saw his eyes cloud over and knew he was gone until the sun rose.

“Petrificus totalus!” she yelled. In her panic, it sounded more like a shriek, but it was still effective. Remus fell to the floor, his limbs trapped to his body. Even though he was bound by the spell, the transformation did not stop and his muscles continued to stretch and strengthen, his bones to grow. As much as she had read about them, she didn’t know how long the spell would hold a fully transformed werewolf.

She turned her wand to the door again, “Bombarda maxima!” The heavy wooden door exploded, leaving only splinters hanging from the wrought iron hinges.

“Mobilicorpus.” Remus’s body lifted into the air, still rippling with the effects of transformation. His yellow eyes watched her, predatory, hungry, as she pulled on his Hogwarts robe and levitated him into the corridor.

oOo

“Why won’t it fucking open?!” Sirius rubbed his arm. Every spell they knew to unlock the door had failed. That left only physical options. James was convinced he had broken his foot trying to kick the door open. Sirius had cleared a path with his wand and run full speed into it with his shoulder with no effect other than a massive bruise.

“Moony!” James shouted and pointed out the window.

Sirius ran to the window. Remus was crossing the grassy lawn below them. In the dim light coming from the castle windows they could see he was fully transformed into a werewolf. If they hadn’t been locked in, they could transform and keep him out of trouble.

“Wait…” James said. His keen eyes seeing first what his friend’s could not. “He’s not moving.”

“Clearly, he is,” Sirius said.

“No, he’s floating,” James said slowly.

“Floating?” Sirius pressed his nose to the glass. Sure enough, no part of the werewolf was touching the ground. “But who?”

A figure hurried behind the wolf. Hidden in the expanse of an oversized Hogwarts robe, the witch or wizard was unrecognisable. Whoever it was knew exactly where to take their friend. A stick was conjured and used to freeze the flailing willow tree before the wolf was sent through the hidden passage. The figure followed.

“Dumbledore?” Sirius wondered.

“Too short,” James shook his head. “And Dumbledore wouldn’t hide behind a student’s robe.”

“Then who?”

“Dumbledore!”

“What?” Sirius punched him. “You just said—“

“No–Ow!” he rubbed his arm and punched Sirius back, purposely hitting the arm Sirius had used to try to force open the door. “Dumbledore is _there_.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“You need glasses more than I do, mate.”

Sirius ignored him and watched Dumbledore rush across the lawn. His midnight blue robes disappeared in the dark, but his white hair shone brightly, catching every bit of candlelight from the castle. Peter jogged up behind him, clearly out of breath from the rush to find the Headmaster. Dumbledore froze the tree and disappeared into the passage.

oOo

The howls echoed through the hollowed-out tunnel. Hermione leaned against the packed dirt wall and waited. She waited to catch her breath. She waited for Remus to tear through the door and her magical reinforcements. She waited for him to attack her. She waited for the darkness to envelop her. She held her wand tightly in her shaking hands and refused to turn her back on the door to the Shrieking Shack.

A hand landed lightly on her shoulder. She shrieked and spun, firing a stunning hex at her assailant, missing the mark by at least a foot.

“Miss Garnier,” Dumbledore’s voice spoke to her.

“Headmaster?”

“Yes, Miss Garnier,” his face was illuminated by the glowing tip of his wand. “Remus?”

“Locked inside. I reinforced the door,” she said, still breathless.

“How did you know where–“ Peter began, but as he spoke his eyes grew glassy and his face fell slack.

“I think there are better places for such discussions, don’t you?” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in the wand light. Hermione could only nod.

Dumbledore’s wand led the way back through the tunnel. Remus’ snarls grew quieter as they approached the castle, but Hermione still felt the chill of his eyes on her. The way his werewolf eyes had watched her, as if hunting her even though he was petrified. She doubted that she would be able to look at mild Remus Lupin the same way again, knowing that predator was in him somewhere.

Sensing her fear, Dumbledore slowed and placed a hand on her shoulder. “What you saw of him tonight is not any part of his normal self,” he assured her. “The werewolf is a disease, infecting his body, not some monthly manifestation of a darker side of our good Mr Lupin.”

“I know, Professor.”

“Why were you with him so late?”

“I didn’t think it was so late. His pocket watch read it was only mid-afternoon,” she insisted.

He nodded, but said nothing.

“The door was locked, Professor,” she told him. “And warded.”

“Locked and warded,” he repeated, “with you and a werewolf inside on the first night of the full moon…”

“Yes, Professor.”

He nodded and said nothing as they took up their slow pace again. The wizard aimed a spell at the knot that tamed the wild whomping willow tree, and they exited the passage. Peter was still glassy eyed and slack jawed behind them. Whatever spell Dumbledore had placed on him was a strong one.

“He will not remember seeing you in the tunnel tonight,” Dumbledore assured her.

“What about Remus?” she asked. “Will he remember?”

“Remember that you brought him to the Shrieking Shack?” he considered it a moment and shook his head. “No, he was likely too far gone. What the wolf does, the human cannot remember.”

She nodded, and hugged the robe closer to herself.

oOo

Sirius and James were hidden behind the stone window frame, peering out at the lawn below. Peter was standing stupidly as if he had been hexed, while Dumbledore spoke to the mysterious figure. Whoever it was, they were standing in Dumbledore’s shadow. He or she nodded and walked away, his or her back to their limited vantage point. The Headmaster then turned to Peter, who blinked back to consciousness and began waving frantically and running toward the whomping willow.

“The old bastard modified his memory,” Sirius whispered.

“No use asking who was in the tunnel, then,” James agreed.

“Who do you think it was?”

“Dunno,” James said. “But who else knows the only safe place to bring a werewolf on the full moon?”

“Snivellus.”


	9. Blood

Blood. Remus could taste it, sharp and nauseating on his tongue.

 A werewolf doesn’t hunt animals, not like a regular wolf. A werewolf hunts people. Locked in the battered old hovel, the only person to hunt was himself. That’s how it had been until last year when his friends managed to become Animagi. With their company, he somehow managed to cling to his human mind and remain a danger to no one… relatively speaking. He hadn’t woken to the taste of blood in his mouth for over a year. It tasted different than it used to.

He rose on tired and shaking legs. He wasn’t surprised to find himself naked, but he was surprised to find himself in the ruined living room of the Shrieking Shack. His last human memory had been telling Mione to run. It was a ridiculous order, he knew. The door was magically locked. From what he saw of her performance in Charms, she wouldn’t know or be capable of performing a spell strong enough to open it. He should have woken in that classroom with her dead body, not here in the shack alone.

Not that he wasn’t relieved, but he was confused.

Confusion built as he saw no wounds on his body. Without his friends to keep him calm, the wolf tore into the only flesh available, its own. There was not a scratch or bite anywhere on his body. There were ample scars, but no new wounds. So where had the blood come from?

Near the door, still locked and warded, was a broken shelf, cracked and splintered from years of the werewolf’s monthly raging. Exposed some four feet from the floor was a nail, sharp and coated in dried blood. Remus saw the wooden doorframe around the sharp metal barb was clean, an unnatural state for the shack. Everything was covered in thick layers of plaster from damaged walls, dust and stuffing and feathers from the damaged furniture. Yet here was a clean spot.

The boy traced it with his frightened fingers, from the door frame down to the floor, realising what the lack of grime meant. Someone had brought him here, carried or carted him to safety. That same someone had torn themselves open on a nail and bled onto the frame before they escaped and locked him inside. The wolf’s keen smell had found it, lapped at the blood and relished it so thoroughly that it had been enough to satisfy him for the night. Remus had no new scars because someone else had gotten one.

He thought of Mione. She had looked so frightened last he remembered. What had he done to her before someone released them?

He heard a voice on the opposite side of the door and stood back as it squeaked open on rusty hinges. The tall, twinkling Headmaster stood before him. “Mr Lupin,” Dumbledore smiled. “Did we have a rough night?”

“Not as rough as some, Professor.”

“You needn’t be concerned about Miss Garnier,” Dumbledore assured him. “She is quite unharmed.”

“But–“

“There is time enough to fret, my boy,” Dumbledore twinkled. “First there are clothes and breakfast.”

“Yes, Professor,” Remus said and gratefully accepted the robes he offered.

“Your friends were quite concerned about you when you failed to attend dinner,” Dumbledore informed him. “Mr Pettigrew came to collect me personally.”

“Oh,” the boy replied numbly.

Dumbledore continued to chat, filling Remus’s ear with happy nonsense to keep him from worrying over his night-time misbehaviours. Normally it worked, but Remus was caught by the concern of why he had been locked in the classroom with Mione and why his friends had not come to collect him when it was getting dark.

“Here we are,” Dumbledore deposited him at the Gryffindor table and continued on to the high table to enjoy his beans on toast.

“Where were you last night?” Sirius stared at him.

“Studying… with Mione.”

The boy raised an eyes brow and asked in a voice thick with sarcasm, “You just lost track of time?”

“No…the watch said it was mid-afternoon, four o’clock at the latest.”

“Someone tampered with your watch?” James narrowed his eyes behind his glasses.

“And locked us in,” Remus added.

“Us, too,” James motioned to Peter and Sirius.

“Locked you in where? Why didn’t you come get me?”

“We went to the classroom,” the Chaser insisted. “Found a note saying you were in the room next to Transfiguration. We went, we got locked in.”

“Hell of a ward on that door, too,” Sirius pulled the sleeve up on his robe to show off his bruised arm. “Check that out.”

“Who would do that?” Remus’ brow knit together in anger and confusion. “And how did you get out?”

“Had to climb down from the window,” Sirius grunted.

“I climbed. You just sort of fell with style,” James corrected

“It’s the ‘with style’ part that counts, mate,” Sirius grinned at him.

“But how did _I_ get out?” Remus wondered.

“That’s not the only question…” James said in a sing-song voice that was completely inappropriate to the conversation at hand.

Sirius leaned in and told him about the figure. The dark figure in an oversized Hogwarts robe. This hidden figure who had levitated him down the tunnel and emerged with Dumbledore and a stupefied Peter. Peter look sceptically at them for this part. His modified memory remembered none of it, so he thought they were making things up to make him look stupid.

“Mione?” Remus asked.

“Dunno,” Sirius shrugged. “Didn’t get a good look.”

Remus leaned over and looked around his friend’s broad shoulder. Mione was sitting at the Hufflepuff table in her usual spot beside Una Harwick. She was smiling and laughing at one of the girl’s stories, but she looked tired, as Remus often did after the full moon, like she hadn’t slept most of the night. He imagined her dreams had been haunted by visions of his transformation. If Dumbledore had modified Peter’s memory, why would he have left Mione’s intact?

“I want to see the classroom,” Remus declared. He shovelled his breakfast into his mouth; barely giving himself time to chew before shoving more in, acting every bit the ravenous beast he had been the night before. He swallowed his entire goblet of juice without breathing and slammed it down on the table. “You coming?”

James stood immediately. Sirius shrugged first, but followed close behind. Peter sat on the bench, thinking this was all an elaborate practical joke on him. He shoved a couple of sausages into a sliced roll and ran out of the Great Hall after them.

Remus led the way to the classroom, walking with a strength and determination he usually didn’t show. If he presented himself with this much authority, James and Sirius would take him a lot more seriously as a Prefect. Despite the fatigue of transformation, he raced up the stairs to the second level and was first to turn the corner. He stopped, James and Sirius crashed into him.

“Holy shit,” Sirius muttered.

What little was left of the door was lolling on its hinges. The rest was scattered across the floor of the hallway in splinters and great chunks. It looked like the door had exploded outward. A two-foot beam of wood was impaled in the wall opposite. It had just managed to avoid slicing into the only painting hanging on the wall, the portrait of Harriet the Haggard, who was sitting smugly in her frame refusing to tell any of the painted figures invading her frame what had happened. Her wild eyes locked onto Remus as he approached and she smiled a toothless grin.

“You’re a lucky one, ain’t you, boy?” Her voice was filled with mirth.

“Lucky?” Remus repeated incredulously.

“Lucky for that girly of yours,” she winked, then smoothed her hair down flat against her head and pushed her nose haughtily in the air, a clear and accurate imitation of Mione Garnier.

That was enough to set the other paintings speculating.

“Mione did this?” James was both impressed and frightened.

“She can’t have done this,” Remus said. “She’s no good at Charms… she takes three times as long as anyone to learn a new one in class… “

“So she’s slow to catch on,” Sirius shrugged. “Doesn’t mean she’s not good once she gets it.”

Remus picked his way through the devastated door to reach the classroom. The tables he had overturned in his haste to escape were still lying scattered around the room. All their papers and books were exactly where they had been the night before. Mione’s bag was still on the floor by her chair. Remus’s jumper was on the table where he had discarded it. Something was missing.

“Mon dieu!”

They started at Mione’s exclamation, spinning on the spot to stare at her. The girl was in the doorway, balancing on the balls of her wing tipped shoes to keep from breaking her ankle on a chunk of door. Remus rushed over to her, panic evident in his every move. “Mione! About last night–“

“Really, Remus,” she sighed in her bored French way, “if you were that hungry, you could have said something instead of behaving like an animal.”

“What?”

“You jumped up and started howling and clutching your stomach. I was hungry, too, but I can control myself.”

“I—“

“You pushed me!” she cried indignantly. ”You shoved me aside and exploded the door,” she looked down at the damage. “I thought it would just be a bad dream, but, mon dieu, look at this mess!”

“I exploded the door?” Remus swallowed hard. He didn’t remember that. How could he not remember that?

“I think we should work in the Great Hall from now on so you won’t miss dinner,” she patted his head like he was an infant.

“Yeah…dinner,” he parroted stupidly.

She stepped around him, collected her belongings and left without another word to any of them. They watched her leave, amazed that she was so calm and condescending. Remus looked at what was left on the table, his parchment, Runes notes and a few dictionaries, his jumper, and, hanging off the chair, black as midnight, was his Hogwarts robe. It had not been there minutes before. That had been the thing that had been missing. Mione had deposited it when she came in, when they were so stunned by her arrival and declarations that they wouldn’t notice.

“She’s lying.” All four realised at once. 


	10. Suspicions

The fabric was thick and heavy. Just running his fingers over it made them feel warmer. The black winter robe lay on Remus’s bed. He stood over it, peering down like a scrutineer over a broom at the Quidditch World Cup. He knew what he was looking for, though his friends did not. He tried to explain how magically repaired clothes held the sign, like a scar, of where the fabric had been mended. He was well acquainted with such scars; most of his clothes had at least one of them. His winter robe had never been torn, and should not have a single one of these magical repairs. If he was wrong, if he had just glanced over the robe in the chaos, then it would hold no scar. If he was right, if Mione had worn it out across the lawn and in the Shrieking Shack, if she had cut herself on the exposed nail, then he would see the evidence.

His pale fingers traced every inch from the collar to the hem and back again. Up and down, down and up, he felt and looked. Peter, still not convinced that this wasn’t just an elaborate joke at his expense, got bored and left for lunch. James and Sirius watched, not sure if they wanted Remus to find what he was looking for. In their minds they were each considering what it would mean if Remus found the fabric scar. It would mean that Mione not only knew he was a werewolf, but somehow knew where he howled away his nights every full moon. She knew where to access the secret passage and exactly which knot to press on the willow tree. It would mean she was a frighteningly skilled and powerful witch who could shatter ancient and solid structures that had withstood a millennia of magical abuse; meaning she faked ineptitude in class, when knowledge and mastery mattered most.  If Dumbledore did not remove her memory, it would mean he knew about her.

“Shit,” Remus said softly.

Sirius released a sigh. “Didn’t find it?”

“No,” Remus said. “I did find it.”

James and Sirius jumped from their beds and ran to his side. They looked where he pointed. Barely visible on the dark fabric, they saw a line where the material was slightly thinner. It was somewhat crooked but primarily followed the weft of the fabric. It was a scar.

“She’s lying,” Remus said with absolute certainty.

“What do we do?” Sirius asked.

“Follow her,” James decided. “I’ve got the cloak. We’ll see where she goes, what she does, who she talks to.”

“She already thinks I’m a stalker,” Sirius shrugged. “Might as well prove her right.”

“I’ll watch her today,” James said. He looked at Sirius, “You rest up, you’re on Moony detail tonight.”

James didn’t wait for them to agree, he didn’t have to. He pulled the invisibility cloak from his trunk and shoved it into his bag. It was Saturday, and he knew exactly where to find Mione. The girl was as predictable as the phases of the moon. Every Saturday she would be sitting in the library in the same chair at the same table, the same look of absolute concentration on her face. He had watched her from afar with Sirius, but now he could get closer, guarded by the invisibility cloak. There was something different about her, more than just her uniform and accent. She knew things she shouldn’t know, and lied about knowing them. If there was one thing James could recognise it was trouble. And Mione Garnier was trouble.

In all the Saturdays and Sundays that he had spent an hour idly watching Mione study, he never once bothered to concern himself with what she was researching. He assumed it was information for her classes. She was a Hufflepuff after all, the house notorious for hard workers. If she was as slow to catch on as she seemed, then she needed all the extra research she could get. After seeing the effect she had on the classroom door, he was curious what she was really researching. It was either charms or, given her blasé outlook on encountering a werewolf, information on dark creatures.

The girl was not at her usual table when he entered the library, but her bag lay open. He quickly searched the stacks, looking first in the section he knew held volumes on werewolves. She was not there. She was in the dustiest area filled with books on theoretical magic, a subject so dry that no student ever bothered venturing into that section without being forced to.

James went back to the table, sat in an empty chair and waited for her to return with her pile of books. He didn’t have to wait long. The girl emerged from the stacks after only a few minutes and dropped a heavy pile of books onto the table, ignorant to his presence beneath the invisibility cloak and Madam Pince’s shocked glare at how poorly the girl was treating the precious volumes. The young librarian had only been there for three years, but everyone knew she was mad for books.

Mione took out a rolled up parchment and unfurled it. James could see she had already written quite a bit on it in columns and diagrams and paragraphs. Her small, tidy writing was easily read upside down and he started scanning the parchment. It made absolutely no sense. He realised after several attempts that it was in French, and felt rather stupid for not noticing that sooner. He tried again looking for the few words he knew in the language. There were no references to _les loups_ , _le loup-garou, charmes_ or _maledictions_. There were certain words that he saw repeated several times – _experience_ , _voyage dans le temps_ , _dommages-intérêts_ _à la_ _chronologie_ and _événements_ _passes_. He scratched his head beneath the cloak and tried his damnedest to translate the words; they looked so close to English, but the meanings just wouldn’t come to him. He wrote them down, hoping she wouldn’t notice the quill scratching so close to her.

“You look tired,” a voice interrupted her reading. “Rough night?”

Snivellus slithered up beside her and glanced at her paper. He frowned, understanding the French no better that James.

Mione discretely closed her book and turned to look at the unwelcomed visitor. “I’ve certainly had better nights’ sleep,” she replied coolly.

The Slytherin raised an eyebrow, clearly having anticipated more of a reaction. James knew with complete conviction that it had been Snape who locked her in with a werewolf. He was glad no one could see the gestures he was sending Snape’s way. Mione was far more delicate, though when she turned to place her book on the table James saw in her face the same recognition. She rose and smoothed the silk of her dress down before turning to face Snape. With her high heeled shoes she was within an inch of his height, her eyes levelled on his and she spoke, a smile still on her face.

“I know what you did, and if I didn’t value Remus’ secret above your sad life I would report you to the Ministry.”

“You know what he is and you still think him something you can befriend?” he hissed.

“What he is?” She considered it slowly. “What Remus becomes is no fault of his own; it was forced on him. What Remus chooses to be is of far more importance. Like you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You have every opportunity to make for yourself a good life, but you choose to be a miserable bastard,” she stared hard at him. “You elect to be a thing of ridicule. Remus elects to be human. And you wonder why I would want to be a friend to him.”

Snape flinched and sneered and fought back the words he so desperately wanted to shout at her. She was right; there was nothing wrong with Snape that wasn’t his own damn fault, James knew it. He could see Snape’s hand twitch and dive into the inner pocket of his robe. The Slytherin reached for his wand to hex the girl for daring to speak the truth. Before James could even react, as quick as his reflexes were, Mione’s arm was raised, her wand pointed at Snape’s throat.

“Severus,” she said, still with the irritating tone of civility that clearly no longer existed between them. “Despite reports to the contrary, I’m quite good at cursing those who deserve it. And I’m sure there are many who would agree that a petty little boy who intentionally tampers with a timepiece to read the wrong hour, locks and wards someone in a room with a werewolf on the full moon and then gloats about it is definitely deserving of a hex that would maim and disfigure for life, no?”

“If you’re so sure it was me, why haven’t you told the Headmaster?” Snape sneered.

“I didn’t have to. Who else knows of Remus’s condition? Who else would have the gall to try to expose him so brutally and at the expense of another’s life?” Still she smiled, “Only you, Severus.”

“Ah, Severus, lad,” a cheery voice interrupted them from above. All three looked up, startled. The Fat Friar floated merrily through the air on his back, not at all perturbed to have witnessed Mione pointing a wand at the boy’s neck. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Professor Dumbledore wanted a word with you in his office. Follow along, please.”

The invisible boy couldn’t decide who to stick with. Staying with Mione might prove pointless as the girl wrote her notations in French and her books were so unbelievably boring and complicated he couldn’t hope to understand them. He opted to follow Snape. He slid sideways from his chair, careful not to move it even a fraction. Whatever she might be, Mione was not as slow or passive as they had all thought.


	11. Promises

Severus Snape followed the Fat Friar’s path, obstinately ignoring the ghost’s attempts at pleasant conversation. His shoulders were slumped, far more than his usual curvature. James recognised the posture as defeat and probably a little fear. Snivellus had to know that he was in for a long lecture, possibly suspension or even expulsion for what he had done. The boy stepped onto the rotating stairs; James followed. He was nervous about entering the Headmaster’s office invisibly, but so far the only thing capable of piercing the invisibility cloak’s illusion was the Marauder’s Map, which was stored safely in Gryffindor Tower.

“Come, Severus,” Dumbledore called, no hint of anger in his voice.

Snape took a deep breath and opened the door. Dumbledore was standing away from his desk, stroking the feathers of his pet bird. It closed its eyes and crooned softly. “Music for the soul, wouldn’t you say, Severus?” Dumbledore sighed.

Snape only pinched his lips closed tighter. If he was soothed by the music, he wasn’t about to admit it. James felt a calmness and contentment he certainly had not felt before he came through the door. Dumbledore should sell recordings of his pet’s song. He would make a fortune.

“Severus, I am very disappointed,” the Headmaster spoke. “The prank you pulled last night was reckless and could have gone very wrong. Had you locked a lesser witch in that room we would certainly be sending Remus off to face murder charges.”

Snape’s head was down and his lank hair veiled his expression from Dumbledore’s view, but James saw the tug at Snape’s mouth. He was actually smiling at the thought of Remus killing someone and going to Azkaban for it. James gripped his wand beneath the cloak and fought the hex back into his throat.

“Had that happened, I’m sorry to say, I would have been forced to insist you share in the boy’s fate,” Dumbledore informed him sadly.

Snape’s head snapped up, shocked and angry. “If it had gone wrong, I would not have been the one who killed her.”

“Had his watch not been magically altered, he would have known the moon rise was coming. Had the door not been locked, he could have left without fuss,” Dumbledore shook his head. “But that was not enough. It wasn’t enough to let her see the transformation. You warded the door, Severus. Do you know the level of skill and power necessary to break through such a ward with one spell?”

“More than she should have had,” Snape said, his eyes narrowing. “It was a test, Professor, not a prank.”

“A test of Miss Garnier?”

“She’s not what she seems. She pretends not to know anything, to be completely inept, but I’ve seen her practice spells and she knows them perfectly. She can tell Professor Slughorn all the answers, but pretends not to be able to brew anything completely right. She is lying and I don’t know why,” Snape insisted, as if his quest for answers was reason to endanger lives.

“I know why,” Dumbledore said assuredly. “I have allowed her to remain here because she will be safe here. Let that be enough.”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Snape said.

“For your test which could have ended in her death, seventy points from Slytherin and detention until the end of term.”

“Yes, Headmaster.”

“Remember your promise, Severus. You are not to expose Remus’s condition to anyone, in any way, at any time without his express permission,” Dumbledore’s voice was hard with warning. James, for all the times he had spent before the Headmaster, had never heard the old man sound so serious or so dangerous.

“Yes, Headmaster.”

“Miss Garnier is not to be tested again, do you understand, Severus?”

“Yes, Headmaster.”

“You may go.”

Snape rose from his chair and left. The old man turned back to his bird and petted it until the song came. James wanted to stay and listen, but he followed Snape out before the door closed. He followed the boy down the stairs and through the corridors. James intended to go back to the library and was surprised that Snape was heading the same way. The git had promised the headmaster to leave the girl alone, but he walked through the library to her table, pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her.

He said nothing, just stared at her.

Mione glanced up briefly and then returned to her research, ignoring him. James checked his watch every few minutes, wondering when the stalemate would end, but they continued to sit, neither one speaking. An hour passed before she closed her book. James waited for her to yell at the greasy Slytherin, but she set the book aside and took the next one from her pile. Snape reached across the table and took the discarded book. He flipped through it, frowning at the complexity of it, but kept reading.

“I can’t quite sort out what you’re trying to do,” Snape said finally.

“Oh, well you see, by ignoring you I’m hoping you will go away,” she smiled. James bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“Not what I meant,” Snape replied in a clipped tone. “I can’t figure out what you are researching.”

“I’m allowed my secrets, Severus.”

“You have nothing but secrets.”

“And that is something you will just have to accept,” she sighed. “I take it you’ve not been expelled, then?”

“No, but I’ve been assured that had things gone badly, I would have been tried for murder,” he shrugged a rounded shoulder.

“It would be no less than you deserved,” she sighed again, somehow coming off as bored by the idea of her own death.

“Who are you?” he asked bluntly. “You’re smarter than you let on, more powerful, too. No one would hide that without a damn good reason.”

“I am who I claim to be. If I choose to deny my intelligence, the reasons are mine alone. And if you continue to make yourself a nuisance, I will forget that I’m trying to be nice to you.”

“Dumbledore has commanded that I leave you alone,” he said.

“Yet here you are.” She raised an eyebrow. “Is there any particular reason you can’t leave me alone? I can’t imagine you are jealous. You’re a far better potioneer that I.”

“I hate secrets and lies.”

Hermione found this rather amusing given Professor Snape’s job as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. He was a man who made the Order stronger by keeping secrets, made himself and his comrades safer with every lie. She had assumed that since his personality and habits were so like those of his adult self that his attitude toward secrecy would be the same. So much for that theory. He was as different from his later self as were James and Sirius. Remus, thankfully, was just the same, a steady rock in the turbulent river of time.

Snape shifted uncomfortably under her prolonged gaze. “What?”

“Nothing,” she assured him. “I like that you hate my lying, but trust me, Severus, I would prefer not to have to. Now, please respect Dumbledore’s wishes and leave me be.”

He leaned in, his prominent nose inches from hers. He glared at her for a moment and, when he spoke, his voice was low and threatening with his promise, “I will find out your secret.” He pushed away from the table and left her alone with the invisible James Potter.

The girl shook her head sadly and ran a hand absentmindedly over her hair, muttering to herself, “Which one?”

James slid into the chair Snape had vacated and settled in for the long haul. The girl might write in French but she talked to herself in English. As she read, she would consult her notes and think aloud. What she said seemed nonsense to him – gyroscopic vibrations and tumble-effect, crystalline moments and silicafication. James decided she was either brilliant or mad as a box of frogs. Given the discussions he had witness between Snape and both the Headmaster and Mione, and Mione’s rather frightening magical skill, he was leaning toward brilliant. The trouble was he couldn’t sort out what she was putting her brilliant mind toward, and whether it ought to worry him.

The girl put a new meaning into Hufflepuff’s fame of being ‘unafraid of toil.’ It was well past dinner before she showed signs of fatigue; it took Madam Pince coming over and telling her off for the girl to finally leave. She borrowed the two books she had not gotten through and left for the Hufflepuff dorms. James planned to follow her long enough to find out the password, but he stopped in his tracks when he felt a heat against his thigh. After waiting long enough to let Mione walk out of hearing distance, he took the mirror from his pocket.

The mirror shined in the candlelight and reflected a face, pale with black hair. It was not his own face, though, but Sirius’s. James knew just by the sight of him that something was wrong.

“Padfoot?” James whispered.

“Get to the Shack, Prongs,” Sirius commanded, his breathing hard and erratic. “Moony is… Just come. Now.”

James nodded, shoved the mirror into his bag and ran across the lawn, not caring if his feet showed beneath the cloak. He picked up a stick and hit the knot, diving into the secret tunnel before the whomping willow had completely frozen. He ripped the cloak away and ran full speed through the secret passage all the way to Hogsmeade and the Shrieking Shack.

The boy hit the door at the end of the tunnel and fell backwards, tumbling to a stop some feet away. The door had been warded magically to keep intruders breaking in and meeting their death, but it also kept James from helping his friends. He pounded on the door with his fist and shouted to Sirius, fearful of what might be happening inside. The noises he heard coming from the other side of the door were terrifying. He hadn’t heard Remus howl like that in years and it was worse than what he remembered. If Sirius was with him, he should be at least partially himself. Somehow, they hadn’t quite sorted out how, having his Animagi friends with him helped Remus keep a grip on his human mind. It didn’t sound as if that were the case tonight.

There was a great snarl close to the door and a series of crashes and breaking noises, each at a greater distance. The door flew open; Sirius grabbed James by his shirt and pulled him inside. The larger boy warded the door and returned to his Animagus form instantly and without a word to the other. James took the hint and changed into a stag just as the werewolf rounded the corner into the devastated sitting room.

 

 


	12. Unrecognisable

Prongs, a stag sporting a trophy set of antlers, stood tall and majestic with is head cocked to the side, listening. Padfoot didn’t have to listen, he had been with Moony all day, suffered through his pre-moon rise mood swings as the boy ran the gauntlet from lethargic to belligerent to depressed to worryingly jovial to, most unnatural of all, libidinous. Remus, who never showed the slightest interest in either gender, was suddenly threatening to tear Sirius’s lungs out if he dared approach Mione again. She, Remus had snarled, was his for the ploughing. It was in that final state that the moon had risen to its full and the werewolf emerged.

Sirius crouched low to the ground ready to spring on his friend if necessary, which he knew would be. Remus, usually docile with his Animagi friends present, was ravenous this night. In the past that would mean he would be tearing and biting at his own flesh, ripping great scars into his body just to smell and taste the blood. That wasn’t enough, not anymore, not since he had tasted the girl’s virgin blood. That was the taste he wanted, the flesh he wanted.

As soon as the pain of transformation faded, the werewolf made for the door intent on finding the girl. It was locked, warded. There was no leaving. He turned on Sirius; he had enough of his human faculties to know that his inability to escape was the dog’s fault. Mercilessly, he attached, clawing and snapping at the Sirius, who had barely managed to avoid being bitten.

The howl filled the hovel, shaking the rickety walls which were only held together by their peeling wallpaper and Dumbledore’s magic. Remus returned to the living room, stalking low to the dirty floor, his heavy breath shifting the filth. He snarled and stared hard at his friends. Prongs felt an animalistic fear, something he had never felt in Moony’s presence before. His friend was unrecognisable.

The werewolf took in a long, slow breath and growled so low it almost sounded like a purr. He was pleased. He smelled their fear and he liked it. He smelled their fear and wanted to taste it. Without warning, he leapt at them, digging into them with his claws. He tried to pull them closer to bite into them, but Prongs retaliated. He bucked his great antlers upward and caught Remus in the chest and throat. The werewolf fell back, dazed and pained. He snarled and began pacing.

James readied for another attack, but worried that he might grow too tired and weak to keep from being bitten. Remus’s wolf was nocturnal and the night had only just begun.

oOo

Sirius had never been so happy to hear his friend scream. Remus cried out in agony as his bones and sinews returned to their natural state. What began as a howl slowly changed to his human voice and Sirius knew that the night was finally over. He and James were covered in gouges and cuts, but not a single tooth mark, except where Sirius had bitten James to keep him awake during one particularly long stalemate with the werewolf.

With Remus halfway to being himself again, Sirius felt safe to do the same. He concentrated what little energy he had left on becoming human. “Remus,” he asked. “You okay?”

“No,” Remus said, sounding every bit as exhausted as Sirius felt. “Nowhere near okay.”

He fell, naked and unconscious, to the floor. James laid the invisibility cloak over him as a blanket until they could bring him some clothes. He was human and free from the moon’s influence until the following evening, the final night of the full moon for the month. They worried, without saying it, that Remus might be too strong for them to hold back a second night.

“I’m tired,” Sirius said.

“I’m hungry,” replied James, “and tired.”

They leaned against one another on the long walk back through the tunnel and across the grass to the castle. Breakfast was not yet being served, but the house-elves in the kitchen knew to have food available for them at dawn on the mornings following the full moon. The food was ready and waiting at the end of the Gryffindor table. They fell onto the worn wooden benches and ate silently.

A toss of the Galleon decided who would have to trudge up to Gryffindor Tower to get Remus’s clothes; James lost. Sirius took Remus his food while James made the excruciating journey up to their dormitory and back to the Shrieking Shack. He cursed their stupidity for not having clothes ready in the tunnel. He cursed the French girl for making Remus crazy. He cursed Peter for being such a lazy git. When he finally made it back to the Shrieking Shack, Sirius was asleep on the ruined sofa, and Remus was awake and eating, though he looked like death warmed over.

“Sorry,” Remus muttered through a mouthful of eggs.

“Wolf did it, not you.” James shrugged and regretted the motion immediately as pain ripped through his shoulder and neck.

“Not entirely,” Remus said. “I was aware… in a way.”

“You tried to bite us on purpose?!” James wanted to throttle him, but he was too damn tired.

“Yes and no. It was like a dream. I was angry and tried to take it out on you, not thinking about what would happen later.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way, but if you’re in as good a mood tomorrow night, I’m just going to go back to the tower until morning,” James said without jest. “I can’t take a second night of your anger.”

“Sorry.”

A soft knock at the door pulled them away from their conversation. The school nurse, Madam Pomfrey, popped her head in. Remus covered himself nervously in the robe James had brought him. Madam Pomfrey gasped at the state of them. James was covered in deep cuts with a bite mark on his forearm. Sirius, still asleep despite James’s effort to wake him with a boot to the backside, was bleeding on the sofa. Remus, by contrast, was in relatively good shape, having given far worse than he received. The nurse rushed over and began applying salved and potions to every visible wound, but she was most anxious about the bite on James.

“Was it The Werewolf?” she asked. She always called the boy’s worse half ‘The Werewolf’ and never ‘Remus’, like it was a separate creature, which Remus found comforting.

“No, Ma’am,” James assured her. “It was Sirius’s dog.”

The four of them – James, Sirius, Peter and Madam Pomfrey – had come to a silent agreement the previous year. They would not out rightly admit to being Animagi and she would not accuse them of it. She had healed their earliest botched attempts at transformation and suspected what they were doing, but since their last visit to the Hospital Wing, she noticed a marked decrease in injuries Remus Lupin sustained after The Werewolf came to call. It was against the rules, but it helped and gave Remus hope. So she played dumb to their games so long as no one got hurt.

“Sirius’s dog? I thought he was better mannered that this,” she sniffed and dabbed the bite with a towel.

“It was for my own good, Ma’am. I was starting to fall asleep,” James said. “The Werewolf would have done worse if he hadn’t.”

“I don’t like it,” she insisted.

She pursed her lips and said nothing more to them.

Fed, dressed and treated, they returned to the castle. Madam Pomfrey levitated Sirius, who stubbornly refused to wake, up to the Hospital Wing. James and Remus wished she would have the same courtesy for them, but managed to support one another through the castle and into the medical wing. They landed hard on the beds and fell asleep immediately. The nurse spooned a small amount of Dreamless Sleep Potion into their mouths. They did not need the sleep aid, but she suspected that they would not look favourably on reliving the night in their dreams that day. She pulled the curtain around each of their beds and returned to her office to write a report to the Headmaster.

 


	13. The Great Pretenders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Remus has a foul and threatening mouth.

Sunday evening found Remus locked alone in the Shrieking Shack. His moods had begun swinging pendulously shortly after lunch, and his friends, still not completely recovered from the previous night, were in no condition to battle him again. Peter stayed on the safe side of the door, jumping every time he heard a crash. Darkness had not yet fallen and Remus was already dangerously violent, tearing at the door with his fists and nails, throwing himself and remnants of furniture against it. It was unnatural and distressing, especially to the boy who had missed out on Moony’s ferocious behaviour Saturday night. Peter was glad the wards were holding.

As moon rise drew closer the noises grew louder, more savage. Peter flinched to hear the vulgar and violent words pouring from Remus’s mouth. Remus was the kindest of all of them, the one to follow etiquette and rules except where Snivellus Snape was concerned. Yet here he was shouting curses that the foul-mouthed Sirius Black would never have dared sling at his worst enemy.

Peter lit the tip of his wand and, with shaking fingers, pulled the watch from his pocket. The face didn’t show seconds ticking by but the moon’s path across the sky. He clicked it shut and sighed his relief. The moon would be fully above the horizon within the minute. The howls and snarls of the werewolf were preferable to Remus’s threats and damnations.

The livid boy on the opposite side of the warded door was shouting again.

“Pettigrew! You fat fuck, you just wait until morning. I’m going to–“ His voice cracked into a scream of pain as the moon rose and the transformation began. Seconds later the werewolf was howling and clawing at the door. The wards held, but that didn’t keep Peter from pissing his pants the first time he felt the wolf’s hot breath under the door.

oOo

Mione was in no way surprised to find Remus absent from Monday’s Runes class, but she had expected to see either Sirius or James there taking notes for him. Either they were complacent now that she was there to do the work for them or the final night of the full moon had been worse even than the first. As annoyed as she was to think of herself as a mere notation machine for James, as she sometimes was for Harry and Ron, she found it preferable to imagining those eyes stalking Sirius and James.

Those eyes. They had haunted her dreams for the past three nights. Those yellow eyes that could see every detail in the darkness. They caught the light and reflected it, glowing like embers. Even on the sunny November morning, she could see those eyes whenever she closed hers.

Despite Dumbledore’s reassurances that Remus and the wolf were two separate beings, she felt different toward Lupin now; knowing that the predator was in him waiting to take over was terrifying. When she deposited the cloak before his eyes, Remus was stammering and embarrassed by what she would think. She had played off his transformation, pretended she witnessed nothing. If he remained that way, she was sure that all would be well between them. He would say nothing and she would do the same. It would be the perfect relationship of denial.

The next day at lunch she saw Remus and his friends leaning against one another at the Gryffindor table. Most would mistake their posture for their typical lounging, but Hermione knew better. She could see the dark shadows below their eyes, the slight uneasiness that existed between the three and their afflicted friend. After so long being the friend of a werewolf, she couldn’t believe a rift would form after just one month’s full moon. She had seen him change twice; both times it was grotesque and painful but nothing to ruin a friendship.

She would be with them in Herbology a few hours after lunch. She would know then if something was different with the four friends.

Something is definitely wrong, Hermione thought.

The previous Tuesday afternoon, before the full moon, Mione had been thoroughly annoyed by Sirius as he sweet talked Una into working with another group of girls just so he could take the Hufflepuff’s place by Mione’s side. He intentionally let his hands brush against hers as they dug in the dirt, leaned against her for most of the class and claimed to be hot and too dirty to remove his own robe, asking her to do it for him.

Today, he stood well back from her, choosing to work on the opposite side of the greenhouse. James waved him over, but he shook his head, his thick hair falling into his eyes.

“What’s wrong with him?” James thumbed a finger at their distant friend.

“Might have been something I said Saturday.” Remus looked down, brow furrowed and deep worry lines on his face.

“Huh?— _Oh_!” James frowned when he caught the Prefect’s meaning. He glanced at Mione, who was careful to keep a perplexed and slightly bored look on her face, then back at Remus.

“I don’t get it,” Una said, looking from one to the other. She considered herself a part of their discussion, despite the fact that neither one was looking her way as they spoke.

“Not important,” James muttered.

They worked in silence for the rest of the period. Remus was ashamed of himself. He had said such horrible things, and so forcefully that even Sirius believed and heeded his words. This was not the kind of thing he needed or wanted following so traumatic a full moon. He glanced at Mione periodically. She was beautiful and apparently smarter than she let on. He couldn’t imagine her ever desiring him, especially not after Friday. Snivellus had ruined what meagre chances he had with her. If he possessed the wolf’s instincts for the rest of the month, that slimy little arachnid would be sorry.

“Moony,” James kicked him in the ass. “What’re you staring at? Class is over.”

“Right,” Remus said. He looked around and saw most of the students had already left while he had been staring off and imaging just how much pain the Slytherin could take before he passed out. Mione was washing her hands free of dirt. Remus rushed over to do the same.

“Mione,” he said quietly.

“Remus,” she replied. “I saw you and your friends were not in Runes yesterday. Late night Gryffindor party?”

He laughed. “If only.”

“Well, I took notes for you just the same.”

“Thank you,” he said and tried not to stare at her. “I owe you for that. Uh…perhaps, if you’re not busy one weekend, I could treat you to d—“

“Lupin, move your ass,” James yelled across the greenhouse. “I’m dying of hunger over here.”

“Right,” he sighed. He looked back and saw Mione had left the sink and was standing with the cete of Badgers. He hadn’t the courage to continue his offer with all of them watching him. His moment had passed.

His hands deep in his pockets, he made his way slowly up to the castle and to the Great Hall. Ahead of him, Mione and her Hufflepuff friends walked. Mione was certainly unique among them, her blue cloak hanging just below her knees, showing off her calves and ankles where the Hufflepuffs wore thick black robes that hung to their shoelaces.

She’s just something different, he tried to convince himself. It’s the only reason you like her.

He knew it was a lie, but if he repeated if enough times, maybe it would become truth.

James was just sitting down when Remus entered the Great Hall. Sirius had been there for several minutes and had already started eating his dinner. James slapped him on the back of the head for being so rude. The larger boy shrugged and laughed, but glance nervously at Remus.

“I didn’t mean it,” Remus told him. “What I said Saturday… I didn’t mean it.”

“What? I was hungry,” he said. “You think this is because I was trying to avoid you?” He laughed loudly, his bark filling the whole Great Hall. Remus could read the relief in his body language, but decided to let him have his bravado.

“What did you say to him?” asked Peter, always eager to hear what they had to say.

“That I’d kick his ass if he went near Mione,” Remus smiled.

“Actually, your exact words were, ‘I’ll tear your fucking lungs from your chest while you’re still breathing if you touch Mione again, you arrogant bastard’,” Sirius smirked.

“Bloody hell, Moony, I didn’t think you had it in you,” James whistled appreciatively. “Guess that answers any questions we might have had about you.”

“Even if I didn’t have it in me, you’re not my type,” Remus assured him.

“Am I?” Sirius batted his lashed.

“Too arrogant.”

Sirius laughed again and kicked him under the table. He missed his mark and bit back a curse when his foot connected with the hard bench. It was enough to set the rest of them laughing.

Across the aisle, Mione wondered at the complexities of time and genetics that made teenage boys act so stupidly regardless of the decade. Still, she was thankful that a handful of swear words and some nearly broken toes were enough to mend whatever rift had threatened their friendship. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because mine is an evil authorship, I've gone with Joss Whedon's werewolf canon, which leaves poor Remus subjected to three nights of full moons. Because... reasons. 
> 
> Also, I know mood swings are never mentioned in the books, but how could someone go through that and not get seriously cranky? I maintain that the only reason werewolves are so mean is because they are in so much physical pain from the transformation. Seriously.


	14. Cowardly Gryffindor

14: Cowardly Gryffindor    

After dinner, James ran to Quidditch practice. He was in for an earful for having missed the weekend practices, even after Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey had vouched for his absence. The coming game against Ravenclaw would be vital to their chances of thrashing Slytherin, a goal that was every Gryffindor’s dearest hope. Their scrimmage game went well, James’s team winning by several hundred points and getting the Snitch. If they managed to play so well during the real game, Slytherin would have no chance of beating their lead.

The team’s Captain and star Chaser struggled up the hill from the pitch, wishing he could just fly on his broom back to Gryffindor tower, but all brooms had to be secured in the Gryffindor lockers. It was a stupid rule, James decided as he fell into the hot bath around ten o’clock. He was still sore from Saturday night’s epic battle with Moony and the last thing his sore muscles needed was to have Marsh intentionally aiming bludgers at him.

He dragged himself from the bath, dressed and fell asleep the instant he hit the pillow. Even Sirius’ snoring wasn’t enough to keep him awake. Despite his fatigue, dreams came to him, filling his mind with images of bludgers with glowing yellow eyes flying at him, their seams ripping open like mouths and glistening teeth latching onto his arm.

Gasping, James shot up in bed, his arms raised protectively, but there was no bludger and there was no werewolf stalking him. Remus was asleep, though dreaming with fits equal to his own, which was nothing new for Remus. It was slightly worrying to James, though, whose comfortable life had never caused him nightmares.

As he fell back on his pillow, he worried that Moony’s odd behaviour at the full moon might return the next month when he was back home with his parents. The Lupins were loving parents and wonderful people. Most couples would have arranged with the Ministry to have their child removed to some far distant place after learning he’d been bitten by a werewolf, but the Lupins kept him close and raised him with kindness. If he went home and started threatening them and destroying their home before the moon was even close to rising, James could not imagine the heartbreak they would feel. He had to hope that it was temporary and Remus would outgrow it by the December full moon.

He closed his eyes and fell back into a dreamless sleep, waking only when Sirius physically lifted one side of the mattress and rolled him onto the floor.

“What the hell?!” James swore as he tried to untangle himself from his bedding.

“You are going to make us all late, young man,” Sirius said sternly, fists on his hips.

“Fuck off.”

“Such language, I’m offended. Aren’t you, Mr Moony?”

“Tremendously affronted, Mr Padfoot,” Remus replied, his face perfectly straight. “Mr Wormtail?”

“I am beside myself with shock, Mr Moony,” Peter shook his head sadly.

“Really, Mr Prongs, you ought to be ashamed,” Sirius informed him, sounding as stern as Professor McGonagall. He waved his wand and the sheets unwound from the boy’s body, settling in a heap on the boy’s bed. “Now, I do wish you would move your ass. You’ve slept through breakfast and it’s nearly time for Defence Against the Dark Arts. I would hate to deprive Mr Moony of his lovely French lass, as he has already threatened bodily harm to those who stand between them.”

“Yeah, yeah,” James shoved his glasses onto his face and found his clothes, while the others laughed their way down to the common room.

They ran through the corridors, arriving in the classroom just before the door magically shut with the start of class. Professor Morven had no humour for tardiness, and was more than willing to lock students out of the room if they were unable to arrive on time. Mione moved over for Remus, who dropped, panting into his chair. James and Sirius followed, and fell into the seats in front of them. Morven eyed them with dislike, but could say nothing as they were in their seats punctually for the start of his lecture.

“Your Runes notes,” Mione said and handed him a scroll.

“Thanks,” he smiled. “When you have time, we can finish the Welsh translation.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper as Morven began taking roll. “I completed it over the weekend. I hope you don’t mind.”

He did mind. He was supposed to complete half of the translation for his share of the grade. He also wanted to spend more time alone with her, away from the distraction of his friends. She saw the disappointment on his face and chose to interpret it academically.

“If you do not believe I translated it accurately, I can give you the original and you can see if you come up with something different,” she offered.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, not brave enough to tell her the real reason for his long face. He was a Gryffindor, dammit; he should have courage enough to ask a girl out. They had laughed it off, but his friends took his threats seriously enough. Sirius was going to back off and let Lupin have a shot at her. All he had to do was actually _try_.

It would have to wait. Morven began his lecture and Remus could not sulk when there were notes to be taken. Why did he make DADA so boring? It was the most interesting subject at Hogwarts. It brought together all the basic aspects of magic–potions, charms and transfiguration. It could be exciting and fun and hands-on, but all Morven ever did was stand around and lecture. He didn’t even tell stories from his own experience. It was like he was a living textbook regurgitating facts discovered by other people.

“If I were the DADA teacher, I would make this a lot more fun,” Remus muttered.

“Yes, you will,” Mione replied without thinking, her mind almost entirely focused on taking notes. He glanced at her, confused; her English was normally perfect. It struck him as odd that she would mix up the verb tenses, even if she was distracted.

The pair in front of them were having concerns of their own. Sirius elbowed James and gestured to the boy’s parchment. “What’s that?”

James tilted his head and tried to read his own scribbly writing. It made no sense. Why had he written on the outside of a scroll? And why was the writing so much worse than normal? It hit him like a bludger to the head. Those were the odd words he had written when hidden beneath the invisibility cloak, the words that kept repeating themselves in Mione’s private research notes. They were French, which explained at least a fraction of their illegibility.

“Something we need to look up later,” James whispered back.

He had completely forgotten about spending all Saturday following Mione and Snape. Sirius’s distress call and the resulting injuries and fatigue had been enough to drive it from his mind. He hadn’t even mentioned any of what he spied to the Marauders; they had all been so awkward following Moony’s transformations. Thankfully, they were back to normal now, but he had Quidditch practice again. Someone else would have to decipher his writing and translate the words into something understandable.

Morven’s lecture lasted far too long. Hermione wondered what Professor Lupin would have taught about non-verbal magic. Even Professor Snape had them practicing the art on their first day of term. It was already the last day of November and Morven still hadn’t let them try it once. He was all about theory and not about the practical application; Hermione had more than enough theory from Dolores Umbridge. She had a good mind to create a Dumbledore’s Army here in 1976.

“You coming?” asked Remus, breaking her from her disgruntled thoughts.

Mione looked around. All the students were leaving.

Remus offered her a hand to help her up. It was an unnecessary gentlemanly gesture, but he felt compelled to do it knowing she had seen the worst of him. She considered his hand a moment. He realised she must not want to touch him, knowing what he was, and started to drop his hand, but she slid her cool fingers onto his palm and let him pull her up. Neither pulled away once she was on her own feet, they stood holding hands for a long minute.

Sirius elbowed James in the ribs and nodded enthusiastically at the pair. James gripped his side, still sore from the twin attacks of Moony and Marsh. He wanted to punch Black, but was too happy for Remus to spoil the mood. Given a little more time, Remus wouldn’t have to be bothered ripping anybody’s lungs out.

“Clear out,” Morven called from his lectern. “Fourth years are coming in.”

Mione pulled her hand back and collected her bag. They left for lunch together. James and Sirius followed, trying to remain stealthy behind them so they could hear what was being said. They were disappointed; neither Remus nor Mione said anything until they reached the Great Hall where they said ‘goodbye’ and went to their separate tables. James opened his mouth to yell at Moony, but Sirius beat him to it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed and slapped Moony upside the head. “She was right there! You could have said something–asked her out, complimented her, made plans to study, fucking kissed her! Something!”

“I know,” Remus said quietly.

“Then do it!” Sirius snarled. “Or I’ll have to do it for you. Or maybe for me.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes level with Sirius’s.

The black haired boy shifted a bit as his friend held his eye, remembering the look of absolute bloodlust in them when Remus threatened to kill him if he dared approach Mione. That memory chilled him. They were friends, all had been forgiven, but he could not forget, no matter how much he wanted to.

Remus’ stern face cracked into smiled. “You wouldn’t have a chance even if you did try.”

“What?!” Sirius swung a fist at him.

Remus dodged it easily, and looked at him seriously. “Really, Mr Padfoot, I am surprised at your behaviour. I have half a mind to take points from Gryffindor.”

 

 


	15. Lost in Translation

15: Lost in Translation

Peter Pettigrew clapped his pudgy hands enthusiastically and whooped in support. His cheers were not directed to either Sirius or Remus but to the match in general. He watched with hungry eyes as the boys fought. It started as a disbelieving shove when Remus actually followed through on his threat and took points from Gryffindor. Remus retaliated with a kick to Sirius’s ass while they were on the moving staircase. The black haired boy couldn’t let that go, so he punched Remus in the arm. It escalated as they climbed through the portrait hole until they were circling one another in their shared room. Sirius was stronger, but Remus was quick and rather sneaky. He grabbed Sirius in a headlock and used his free hand to mess up the boy’s hair.

“Foul!” cried Sirius as he tried to push him off, but Remus refused to release him.

“All right, gentlemen,” James called them to attention, not in the least bit concerned that his two good friends were fighting. They were the Marauders, after all. They were always pushing and punching each other over something.

With one final ruffle to Sirius’s hair, Remus pushed him off and dropped onto the trunk at the foot of his bed. The loser grumbled for a minute, fixing his hair before he fell onto his bed, lounging as if he had not just had his ass handed to him.

“In all the excitement of the weekend,” James gave Remus a hard look like he had done it on purpose and ought to be thoroughly ashamed of himself, “I forgot about Mione.”

“How in the hell could you forget a girl like that?” Sirius shook his head, his perfect hair falling into his eyes. Remus sent him a rude gesture.

James ignored them both. “She is definitely something different. Dumbledore knows what, but isn’t telling. He docked Snape seventy points and the git has detention for the rest of term.”

“He should be expelled,” Remus said.

“The toe-rag would tell the world your secret if he was expelled,” Sirius shrugged.

“What did Dumbledore say?” Peter leaned forward.

“Just that he knows what her secret is and that she isn’t a danger to anyone. He made Snape promise to leave her alone,” James snorted. “The prat went right back to the library to confront her after he promised.”

“What did they say?” asked Remus. Even Sirius had discarded the guise of being too cool to care and was sitting up, leaning in with interest.

“You might want to restrain Moony for this part,” James smirked. “She said she values Moony’s secret more than Snivellus’s life, that what he becomes is not as important as what he chooses to be.” He and the others noted Remus’ stupid grin.

“She admitted to being smarter than she pretends, but didn’t say why.” James frowned. “I could have told you that much without her saying so. The books she’s studying are unreadable. They’ve got to be from the Professors’ section. They are way beyond what a Hogwarts student could understand.”

“The words you scribbled?” Sirius held up the scroll.

“In French,” James grumbled. “She writes in French. Do you know a spell that could translate it for us?” He looked to Remus.

The boy shook his head. “Need a dictionary for that, mate.”

“Do you have a dictionary that can translate it for us?” James asked, not able to keep the annoyance from his voice. “Come on, I’ve got practice in half-an-hour!”

“It’ll take us longer than that to decipher your writing,” Sirius was nearly cross-eyed trying to make sense of the scribbles.

Remus popped up from under his bed, a thick book raised triumphantly in his hand. “Got one! _The Ultimate French-English Dictionary for the Magical Student_.”

“Geek,” Sirius smirked and threw the scroll across to him.

“Damn, Prongs,” Remus squinted. “This is going take forever.”

James, sick of everyone criticising his penmanship, marched over and ripped the scroll from his hands. He intended to read it immediately, but he had to squint and stutter out the words. “Gimme a break! I was hiding under an invisibility cloak. I’d like to see you do any better. Okay, we got… e _xperience_ , that’s kind of like experience in English.  _Vay…Voy…voyage dans le temps_ , _dommay…dommages-intérêts_ _à la_ _chron…ol…ogie_   oh, _chronologie_ and _év…én…ements…événements passes_. And, uh, crystalline moments and silicafication, those were English words…sort of.”

“Got it,” Remus looked up from his own parchment where the words were written clearly if not exactly correctly. “I’ll have it when you’re done with practice.”

“Good!” James dropped the scroll and ran for the door.

oOo

Marsh was way too good a Beater. Even though the bludger was bewitched to have a mind of its own, he could somehow control its path to hit exactly the same area of James’s body that it had the previous practice. James was certain he had broken ribs. Madam Pomfrey disagreed, however, and sent him back to the Gryffindor tower with only a mild potion to numb the pain. He grumbled all the way up to the tower and into the bathtub. He hoped there was some headway on the translations, because he needed something to take his mind off how badly his scrimmage team had been whipped.

“Good news?” he asked when he trudged into the bedroom.

“Yes and no,” Remus muttered, quill between his teeth and both hands flipped through books. James never understood how he could work in two books simultaneously, but then Remus never understood how he managed to control a broom, dodge a bludger and throw a Quaffle at the same time.

“My team lost. I’m sore and tired. Please give me a straight answer,” James groaned.

“I’ve got the French translated, but it’s weird,” Remus said. “It’s the English I don’t get. I’m going to have to go to the library to find what those words mean.”

“Thank you. The French–how weird?”

“Weird,” Sirius seconded. He plucked the parchment from Remus’s bed and read the words aloud knowing James was too tired to try to read it himself. “Time travel, damages to the timeline, past events.”

“She’s researching time travel?” James scrunched up his face as he tried to figure out if they were playing with him. “Huh?”

“It’s not a new idea, Prongs,” Remus shrugged. “I’ll know more before the week is out.”

“Right…” James fell into bed and started snoring.

oOo

As soon as Flitwick wished them all a pleasant day, the Marauders were racing to the library. James led them directly to the section where Mione had collected her books. They knew which ones she had read by their absence of dust. Strange that Madam Pince, who loved books to the point of wishing she could keep students from borrowing them, would let them sit long enough to gather such a thick layer, but she did spend all her time eying the students distrustfully, not the cleaning bookshelves. They each took an armful, shocked by the weight of them and amazed that Mione had read through so many in only three months.

They laid the books out on a table and Remus tapped each book in turn with the tip of his wand and said aloud, “Invenio Verbum Crystalline.” The first dozen books lay closed and unresponsive, the thirteenth books flew open. Sirius took it and began reading while Remus finished tapping the rest. Three other books responded to the Word Finding spell, James took the three books and put them aside. Remus did the same again, searching for ‘silicafication.’ Another three books responded. The rest were set aside, and the four began to read. Peter was hopelessly lost within the first paragraph. James and Sirius fell behind after the first page. Remus, well read as he was, was stumped after the first two.

“Damn, she is smart,” Sirius muttered.

“I think I understand,” Remus did not sound at all certain. “With the right spell, wandwork or potion, seconds and minutes can be captured in crystal form. You read, see if I’m right.”

He offered the book to Sirius, who gave it the old Gryffindor try before handing the book off to James. Sirius turned back to his own book and read it again with this idea of capturing time in his mind. His own text made more sense; the author, dry and boring as she was, wrote a detailed description of the process by which one might capture a second using a spell of her own invention. James found the same true with his book, but his author wrote that one was to use a potion.

“What about the other word–silicafication?” James looked for the word in his book.

“Got it,” Sirius barked victoriously and began to read aloud. “‘The captured particles of time will degrade almost instantaneously into common silica granules or sand. This silicafication can be prevented’ blah blah. So if you make a grain of time it will turn into sand? That sounds like a waste of effort.”

“Sounds like nonsense, the lot of it,” James said and ruffled his hair. It was his common response to any problem. Big game against Slytherin, mess up his hair. OWLs, mess up his hair. Evans giving him the cold shoulder, mess up his hair. It generally seemed to work except where Evans was concerned.

“Why in the hell would she be researching this?” Sirius frowned.

They all sat silently, considering the meaning of the French and English words she wrote and muttered when no one was around. She pretended to be practically a squib, but did Ministry Boffin level research when alone. It was incomprehensible, much like the books she read.

“She never talks about her friends or family,” Peter said slowly. He wasn’t bright enough to understand the books, but he knew people and their motivations. “She looks at James with that sad face, like he reminds her of someone she lost. What if she lost her family and is trying to go back and save them? She never gets any letters.”

“That’s true,” Sirius said. “She doesn’t get any letters. Even Snivellus gets letters.”

“And she never talks about anyone she knew in France,” Remus agreed.

“But why play dumb?” James asked.

“It’s easier to slide by when no one expects anything from you,” Peter shrugged. He spoke from experience.

“It would explain why she was so standoffish at first, why she still wears Beauxbatons blue,” James said. “She’s not planning on sticking around.”

Remus’s face fell at the idea of Mione leaving. She was only staying long enough to learn how to change the past, to travel back in time. It didn’t matter what he said or did; he could have confessed his feelings and it would have made no difference because she had always intended to leave.

His face lit up.

“Doesn’t matter,” he grinned with his new understanding. It didn’t matter what he said or did. He could say anything and it wouldn’t scare her off. She was leaving anyway, so he could be as bold as he wanted.


	16. Love's Letters Lost

Try as he might, Remus could not work up the courage to ask Mione out.

He knew she was just a transient at Hogwarts. Assuming that she was brighter than he was, she would easily manage to granulate as much time as she needed to make magical time travel possible; she would be in the past and away from him by this time next year, and he would have nothing but regret. He wondered if she would feel the same regret about what she lost, if she would miss him. She certainly didn’t mind his company, but he could not see any great affection in her responses to him. She reacted toward him as she did toward anyone else she enjoyed talking to.

This seeming indifference is what held him back, despite his feelings, despite Sirius’s threats and James’s name-calling. Remus decided that he could live with the regret if it meant keeping Mione close for the rest of her time at Hogwarts. He studied with her in the library; they sat together at Quidditch matches. She claimed to be indifferent to the sport, but she got very enthusiastic during the game, rooting for both Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, much to the annoyance of her housemates. During the Gryffindor match against Ravenclaw, he heard her shout ‘Go, Harry!’ when James flew full speed across the pitch, dodging bludgers to throw the Quaffle into the tallest hoop. He tried asking her about it and about her friends and family, but she became tight-lipped and changed the subject.

The way she rejected all the offers boys made for dinner or a butterbeer, he was starting to think she was attached to someone, to Harry; that _he_ more than anything else was the reason she was so focused on returning to the past. This Harry bloke, whoever he was, was the one pulling Mione away.

In a sense, Remus was correct. Hermione was primarily concerned with getting back to her own decade for Harry, to help him in his fight against Voldemort. The more time she spent in the past with James, the more she worried that she was somehow going to damage the events that should be happening. It was distressing how much time James and his friends wanted to spend with her; time she suspected would have been spent trying to win over Lily Evans had Mione Garnier not been present. She knew she should distance herself from them, but was pained to do so. Trapped so far from what she knew, the Marauders’ similarity to Ron and Harry was a comfort. If she stepped away from them, saw them only distantly, she would remember them as they were in her time – dead, alone or traitorous.

“Mione?” James poked her in the arm. “You’re doing that staring thing again.”

“Am I? I’m sorry,” she blushed. “My mind will wander when I let it.”

“Thinking about Harry again?” Sirius grinned.

“Do you have my Charms notes?” she asked, changing the subject.

“No, I think you lent them to Evans.”

“I’ll go get ‘em for you!” James popped up and ran from the library. He always knew exactly where to find the redheaded Gryffindor. Hermione smiled; Harry would have done the same to chase after Ginny Weasley. He didn’t say it, but she saw the attentions he paid to the fifth year as sure as she saw the ones Remus was paying to her. Her face fell slightly with the pang of loss she felt thinking of Harry and Ginny and would feel when she left for her own time.

“You’re staring again,” Sirius smirked.

“I can’t concentrate today, I should go,” Mione excused herself.

Sirius counted silently down from ten before he pulled on the invisibility cloak and followed her to the Hufflepuff dormitory.

“Persistence,” she said and the painting slid aside allowing her to climb into the portrait hole. The common room was alive with chatter. She ignored it all and went up to the sixth year girls’ room. Sirius considered transforming into a dog to follow her, but thought better of it. He could not be sure he wouldn’t lose the invisibility cloak, and the last thing he wanted was to spend the night muzzled and tethered in Filch’s office.  So he strolled the common room, seeing what Hufflepuffs did when they were alone.

It was not so dissimilar from the Gryffindor common room with overstuffed chairs by a massive fireplace. There were more tables for students to complete their assignments, which is what they were currently being used for. He was disappointed that they weren’t slacking off when no one was looking. No one could work so hard all the time without snapping.

He found Mione’s friends, Una and Edlyn if he remembered correctly, and whispered in Una’s ear. “Does Mione like Remus?”

The girl turned, looking to see who spoke. There was no one. She turned to Edlyn, “That was weird. I think we’ve got a new ghost.”

“Probably just Peeves being annoying again,” Edlyn shook her head.

“Didn’t sound like Peeves,” Una shook her head. “And since when is that poltergeist interested in student romances?”

“Romances?” Edlyn dropped her Transfiguration book and looked up with a wicked grin. “Whose romance?”

“Mione and Remus’s,” Una frowned. “I didn’t think they had anything going on.”

“They do spend an awful lot of time together. They’re partners in almost every class, but I don’t think they do anything but study.”

“Let’s ask her!” Una pointed. Mione was descending the stairs from the girls’ dorms. They waved her over, grabbed her arms and pulled her into a chair. Mione looked confused and possibly a little worried.

“Do you like Remus?” Edlyn whispered.

Mione was shocked by the question. “He’s very nice, but–“

“You’re blushing! You do like him!” Una squealed.

“It’s the brains, right,” Edlyn said. “I remember you asked if Sirius was smart when Pamela said she wanted to be in more classes with him. You like brains, and Remus certainly has plenty.”

“Remus has made no advances,” Mione muttered, still blushing a deep rosy pink.

“We’ll just have to do something about that!” Una giggled. She pushed aside her essay on Animagi and took out a fresh parchment. “I think a love letter would help things along, don’t you?”

Edlyn nodded, and the two scooted their chairs forward and started drafting a letter to Remus from Mione. The supposed author sat rigid in her chair, as they worked. The letter was sweet and probably accurate, as far as Sirius could tell, with references to his blue eyes, soft voice and brilliant mind. Mione was sitting, gripping the arms of the chair, clearly fighting with herself. When the girls started making giggling references to the predatory way he held her time, Mione slammed her fist hard on the solid wooden arm of the chair and stood, knocking the table over.

“That is enough!” she shouted. “I have had enough of your giggling and speculations. J'ai assez à faire face à déjà. La dernière chose dont j'ai besoin, c'est votre mise en relation ridicule . Et franchement si ne Remus.”

The whole Hufflepuff common room was silent and staring at her. She stole their drafted letter from the floor, crumpled it viciously and threw it into the fire. “I would suggest you find something more productive to do with your time,” she warned and left through the portrait hole, Sirius following close behind.

“Did you understand any of that?” Una whispered.

“I think I caught Remus’s name at the end,” Edlyn replied.

“She totally likes him.”

oOo

Sirius followed until they reached the entrance hall. There he pulled off the cloak and stowed it in his bag. Mione marched off, still fuming, while he ambled back toward the library. James had returned with the notes and a smirk on his face after spending far too much time pestering the lovely Lily Evans. Remus was trying to ignore his description of her beauty and vivaciousness, and Sirius’s arrival proved beneficial to finally shutting the love-sick Chaser up.

“Where have you been?” Remus asked as Sirius sat down and put his feet up on a chair.

“Making a nuisance of myself,” Sirius smiled.

“Aren’t you always?” Remus quipped.

“You wouldn’t be in so foul a mood if you heard what I heard,” Sirius leaned the chair back on two legs, fingers laced together on the back of her head and smug smile firmly on his face.

“What might that be?”

“Two out of three Hufflepuffs agree: Mione likes you.”

Remus stopped writing, his quill hovering millimetres from the parchment. He glanced up and saw Sirius smiling, not smirking or grinning, but properly smiling. He was not lying.

“She got quite agitated when those little friends of hers started writing a love letter to you on her behalf. You would have loved it. ‘Your blue eyes shine like a lake under a full moon. When you look at me, I feel as if you’re a predator hunting for my heart.’ That’s the point where she snapped and started shouting at them in French. Didn’t understand a word of it, but it got their attention all right.”

“I imagine it would. Hufflepuffs aren’t usually so aggressive,” Remus breathed.

“Except on the Quidditch pitch,” James corrected.

“You’ve found a lively one, Moony,” Sirius grinned. “That predator reference got her defending your furry little problem.”

“She’s leaving,” Remus said. “There’s no point.”

“Really? So you don’t mind if I have a go, then?” Sirius asked.

Remus’s eyes, blue as a lake under the full moon, flashed with the rage he had only ever seen during the November full moon. It scared him, he would be lying if he said otherwise, but it made him smile. “I thought you might.”

“Seriously, Moony, if you don’t, someone else will,” James told him.

“Not me,” Sirius held his hands up. “I’m rather fond of breathing.”

“Fuck off,” Remus said.

“‘Atta boy!” Sirius slapped him on the back approvingly. “Now, plan of attack. You’re plainly a coward when it comes to girls, so I was thinking you should get resorted into Hufflepuff to hang out with her.”

“Git,” James replied. “Just ask her out. She likes you, or so the git says.”

“She’ll say no. She says no to everyone,” Remus shrugged, resigned.

“You are not everyone,” James pointed out. “She liked you. She values your secret over Snivellus’s life, though he clearly deserved to be expelled and sent to Azkaban. She knows about your furry little problem, and she still spends time with you.”

Remus shrugged again.

“Plan B!” James said with entirely too much enthusiasm. “We all go out together as friends, and then we drop off one by one until it’s just the two of you.”

“So sneaky,” Sirius smirked. “Think you should be resorted, too, Prongs.”


	17. Charmer

The end of the year excursion to Hogsmeade was cancelled thanks to the storm; snow was falling so thickly no magical removal spells could keep the walking path clear, and visibility was less than three inches past any given nose. The sixth years grumbled and walked back up the snowy lawn to warm themselves with hot chocolate in the Great Hall.

“But Madam Coultard read the tea leaves,” Gemma Holly whined. “She said the skies would be clear and it would be a fine day out.”

Mione raised an eyebrow and suppressed a smirk. Divination was as woolly in the ‘70s as in the ‘90s. That anyone actually believed the dregs of a tea cup could reveal the complexities of natural events was laughable. She glanced at Remus to say as much, but saw him looking rather put out.

“Were you looking forward to the trip?” she asked.

“Very much.”

“Perhaps the storm will stop before the weekend is out.”

“Unlikely,” he shrugged, his hands deep in his pockets. She knew that posture. He was depressed. There were still over two weeks until the full moon; his moods should not be affected yet, at least not according to what she had read and what she had witnesses since spending so much time with him. If he was depressed there had to be another reason, one unconnected with his affliction.

“Sit with me for some hot chocolate,” she suggested.

Remus nodded and followed her into the Great Hall. The four great tables were in place, but the students were not holding to strict rules of seating. She sat with him at the Gryffindor table, enjoying the familiarity of it even if the faces around her were not the same as the last time she sat there. Sirius, James and Peter elected to try a different view as well, sitting at the Ravenclaw table. Mione was surprised when they didn’t join Remus, but he shrugged it off.

The boy spoke his order into the goblet and watched it fill with warm hot chocolate. He had liked chocolate ever since he read of its effects in combating the effects of Dementors. Whenever he ate or drank it he thought that he was ingesting some of that same power in combating the depression that came from his other ills. He held the goblet in his hands, running his cold fingers up the sides to feel the heat.

Mione watched and fought a blush as she considered how gently he caressed the metal. She cleared her throat delicately and asked, “What as so special about this particular trip?”

Remus took a sip of his chocolate, giving himself a moment to consider his response. If he told the truth, that his friends had plotted to give him time alone with her, she might not react favourably. She had shouted at her friends when they wrote a letter laced with unwitting taunts about his condition, but that did not automatically mean she liked him. By the time the taste of chocolate faded on his tongue, he had chickened out.

“I was going to shop for my parents’ Christmas gifts,” he lied.

“Oh,” she said, but he couldn’t tell what she meant by it.

“It’s only a week until Christmas, and I’ve been rather lazy.”

“Yes, Christmas. I forgot.”

“Are you going anywhere?”

“No,” she said, sadness drawing lines on her face. “I’ve nowhere to go.”

“You should ask James. His parents are used to him bringing strays back with him,” he laughed quietly. He and Sirius were rather unusual friends to bring home. A werewolf and the outcast of one of the darkest wizarding families known; yes, they were oddities.

“I hate imposing. I will just remain here for the break.”

“What happened?” he asked, looking into her eyes.

“It’s not something I care to discuss.” She shifted into a more formal posture. “I thought you would have figured that out by now.”

“I did, but I’m still curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“We both know I am no cat.” A smirk pulled at his mouth.

“No,” she smiled. “I suppose you’re not.”

“A hint,” he requested, still smirking. “A small one. I’m very smart and I can do a lot with a small hint. I might even be helpful.”

“So far you have been nothing but distracting,” she chided him playfully.

“Distracting? In what way?”

“You are far too charming, you and your friends. I find it hard to want to finish my work.”

Remus smiled down at his goblet. He was charming. He distracted her. He made her want to stay. “Well, I am sorry.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true,” he insisted. “I’m very sorry you still want to finish your work. I, and my charming friends, would much rather you sit back and stay with us.”

Her smile turned mournful. “I would enjoy that very much, but I can’t.” She stood, her chocolate untouched and cold. “Excuse me. I have to get back to my work.”

“If you insist.”

“I do,” she said with a finality that seemed inappropriate to their seemingly light conversation.

She left the Great Hall with all the poise she could muster, but as soon as she turned the corner and was out of sight she ran as quickly as she could back to the Hufflepuff dormitory. That had been a bad idea, talking to Remus. He knew something, she was certain of it. She had taken too great a risk in befriending him. Of all the boys she could have approached to get to the invisibility cloak, he was probably the worse choice. He was clever and accustomed to keeping secrets, which meant he could see through them more easily in others. She should have played with Sirius and his persistent flirtations.

Safely tucked away in the Hufflepuff dormitory, she could pause to consider Sirius and his advances. He had stopped flirting with her. He had stopped immediately after November’s full moon. How had she not noticed he was no longer annoying her with unwanted attention and innuendo?

Very late that afternoon she realised why. She had been distracted from him by his friend. The dark haired Animagus had been pushed from her mind when Remus returned to classes, glancing at her over his shoulder with a new glimmer in his blue eyes. His behaviour had changed after the full moon, their conversation had turned from friendly to playful verging on outright flirtation. It was little different than what Sirius had been doing, save that she actually liked when Remus smirked and flirted with her.

oOo

Sirius sat down beside Remus, throwing his arm consolingly around the boy. “Don’t worry, Moony, she’ll come around.”

“She already has,” Remus muttered. “That’s the problem.”

“Come again?”

“She thinks I’m a charming distraction that makes her want to forget her work and stay,” Remus’ smile was as sad as Mione’s.

“That’s a good thing, right?” James looked around at the others. “That sounds like a good thing to me.”

“She doesn’t think so.”

“Well, it seems to me that she’s still in the research phase,” Sirius stretched his long legs out on the bench and leaned back against Remus. “From what I read, all the experiments to crystallise time ended in death. She’s not going to rush into it. She’ll test and observe and theorise and test again. I say you’ve got plenty of time to make her change her mind.”

“And we’ve got an invisibility cloak to sabotage her,” Peter grinned wickedly.

“Mr Wormtail, there are times when your viciousness frightens me,” Sirius smirked.

Peter doffed an imaginary cap and bowed into the table. “Always one to oblige, sir.”

“Git.”

“I’m tempted to stay back for the holiday,” Remus confessed. “She’s got nowhere to go and no one to keep her company.”

“Full moon, Moony,” James reminded him. “That is not the kind of company she needs.”

“If it were to work out, it would be the kind of company she would be getting, so she ought to get used to the idea,” Remus said matter-of-factly.

Sirius gasped theatrically, “It sounds to me like Mr Moony is considering making Miss Garnier a permanent fixture in his life. Aren’t we a little young to be contemplating marriage, Mr Moony?”

“Wolves mate for life, you know.” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“But you are no wolf, you are a Marauder.”

“Really? And how do Marauders mate, then?” Remus smirked, knowing that despite all his boasting and strutting Sirius had yet to have sex.

“Oh, damn, will you look at the time… I still have that Transfiguration essay to finish,” Sirius stood. “Gentlemen.” He bowed to them in turn, hooked his thumbs in his pockets and took his time leaving the Great Hall.

“That was just mean, Moony,” James smiled.


	18. Dawning

The snow storms continued through the weekend and into the next week. Clouds gathered nonstop over the wet North Sea, collecting moisture and carrying it South and West to deposit heavy wet snow over Hogwarts and the surrounding hills. Magic could not hold back the clouds or the snow long enough for the Hogwarts Express to depart. Remus, it seemed, had the favour of the weather gods.

Classes were finished through January fourth and until the train could leave, the students were allowed nearly free reign over the castle and grounds. While James, Sirius and Peter hunted Snivellus and made his life miserable for the stunt he pulled, Remus sat with Mione in the library. They were the only ones there, not even the diligent Hufflepuffs or studious Ravenclaws studied when school was out. Mione continued reading her theory books, not bothering to hide them from him. She decided that they were too advanced for him to grasp or that he already knew what she was doing and it didn’t matter; either way she was glad for the company.

“Merde,” she muttered.

Remus looked up from his book on werewolves, finding the author’s scare tactics annoying but laughable. Mione had closed her book and placed it to her left atop the book she had already finished reading that morning. The space to the right of her parchment was empty. She had exhausted the library of books on theoretical time travel.

“Time for a break,” Remus suggested.

“No, I need to find out more,” Mione insisted. She took her books to Madam Pince. Remus could see them talking from his seat at the table. Mione was rather agitated as the librarian gestured repeatedly to the Restricted Section. Even a sixth year wasn’t allowed access to those books without a teacher’s signature. She came back to the table and fell into her chair, despondent.

“Time for a break,” Remus repeated, more insistently.

“Fine,” she sighed and stood.

She walked beside him toward the Great Hall, her feet barely leaving the floor as she practically shuffled along dejectedly. “Merde,” she muttered so quietly Remus thought he imagined it.

He was ready to start on her, ask her why it was she was so desperate to leave, but the chaos in the entrance hall distracted them both. Students were rushing into the massive hall from all directions hauling their trunks behind them.

“Now, settle down!” Flitwick urged. “The train will be ready for loading in an hour. Bring your trunks in an orderly line!”

“The snow’s stopped,” Remus said, sounding less than pleased.

“You’ll be home for Christmas,” she agreed.

He nodded. “I should go pack.”

“Bon voyage,” she smiled. “Good journey, in case I don’t see you before you leave.”

“Thanks.” He wanted to kiss her, but he only managed a half-hearted one-armed hug. It was briefer even than one he would have given to one of the Marauders, but it was the best he could manage. He turned and pushed into the crowd. The coming full moon was making him weary and weak and he was buffeted by the students eager to get home.

Mione was sad, not to see him go, but that she had no family to be so anxious to see. If she couldn’t manage her task, or allowed herself to be swayed by Remus and his friends, then her parents would be celebrating Christmas alone for the rest of their lives. She clenched her fists and spun around, returning to the library. She would reread all the books she had been through, looking at them with more knowledge than she had the first time. When term began again, she would request access to the Restricted Section. Slughorn would be more than happy to give it to her. He considered her part of his collection, a rare French gem.

oOo

The train departed that evening while the girl read alone in the library. It sped through the dark night toward London. In their compartment, the Marauders looked up at the moon. It was only a fraction away from being full. One more day and Moony would be in the throes of agony and The Werewolf would be tormenting the poor boy’s parents. He wasn’t with them to see their concern, as a Prefect he would be on duty keeping order among the train’s rowdy passengers. Still, they were slightly put out that he hadn’t bothered to pop in once during the journey.

“It might have been better if he stayed at school,” Sirius said darkly. “His parents won’t get a decent ‘hello’ out of him this close to the full moon.”

James shrugged.

The door to their compartment slid open with a hard bang. “Is he here?”

It was Fern Portsmith, the Ravenclaw seventh year Prefect. She was looking rather dishevelled thanks to her duties; her pale blond hair tangled and sticking out from one side of her head; her Prefect badge dripping with a sticky blue substance that looked worryingly toxic. “Is he here?” She demanded again, rather more fiercely than the first time.

“Who?” James looked worried for her.

“Bloody Lupin,” the girl all but shouted the name like a curse word.

“No, he’s in the Prefect compartment, isn’t he?” Sirius shrugged.

“He hasn’t shown his face yet,” she looked like she was holding back a few choice adjectives. “We thought he was here with you lot.” She turned and slammed the door shut. Through the wood and glass, they could hear her shouting at a group of third years.

The Marauders grew pale and silent. Moony wasn’t on the train. He had abandoned his Prefect duties and his parents. There could be only one reason.

“Owls,” Sirius said and pulled his and James’s caged birds down from the overhead rack.

“Letters,” James said and yanked a few sheets of parchment from his trunk. He handed them to Peter, who had the best handwriting of the three of them. “To Mione and to Dumbledore.”

Peter nodded and started writing warnings to each of them. He blotted the ink and rolled the parchment. James tied a letter to each owl’s leg, while Sirius opened the window wide. The freezing wind whipped into their compartment; it would have chilled them if they weren’t already cold with fear.

“Sorry about this, Hester,” James apologised to his owl and threw her out into the heavy wind. Sirius did the same with his owl. The boys stuck their heads out the window to make sure the birds survived the turbulence. The owls flapped silently and found their way into the clean, undisturbed air a few yards away from the train. The owls turned in mid-air and flew in the opposite direction, away from London toward Hogwarts. The dawn was breaking, a grey snowy dawn. It was now Christmas Eve day with a full moon that night.

They pulled back into the compartment, closed the window and sat in fearful silence.

“Gods, I hope they make it in time,” Sirius whispered. “How fast do owls fly?”

“Probably not fast enough,” James shook his head. “We can Floo into Hogsmeade from my house.”

“That will still be cutting it awful close.”

“Best we can do,” he said and they fell back into silences, worrying away the last two hours of the ride.

Disembarking never took so long in all their years at Hogwarts. All the first years scrambled to find their way through the hidden barrier and clogged the only exit; it was another hour before they finally made it to the Muggle side of King’s Cross and found James’s parents. The old couple smiled and hugged their boys, biological and practically adopted, and saw the worry in their faces.

“Term going badly?” his mother asked.

“No, it’s Remus,” James whispered. “He wasn’t on the train and the full moon is tonight.”

“Oh, dear,” the old woman said. “Let’s hurry home.”

That was easier said than done. The whole of King’s Cross was crammed with Muggles traveling to visit relatives for Christmas and wizarding families come to collect their long-delayed children from the Hogwarts Express. It was tempting to just Disapparate in the chaos and assume no one would notice, but the elderly Potters knew better. The Ministry was on high alert thanks to Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and they would pounce on any visible displays of magic. The four had to find the slow way out to the designated Apparition area in an empty shop across the road. That queue was around the corner and down the street when they joined it. Sirius muttered it would be faster to take a Muggle taxi to the next designated area, but the Potters just patted his shoulder and assured him it would be fine.

The clock was chiming eleven o’clock when they appeared in the foyer of the Potters’ house, James and Sirius each clinging to one of the elderly Potters since they had not taken their Apparition tests yet. The pair rushed to the fireplace. James threw in a handful of floor powder, “Professor Dumbledore’s office,” he cried.

The flames sputtered and flashed, but remained the usual red and orange. He tried again, this time trying to connect with The Three Broomsticks. The flames continued to burn the logs.

“It’s Christmas eve, dear,” Mrs Potter patted her son’s arm. “The Floo Network is probably clogged with people traveling and contacting their families. Try again later.”

“I’m sure the Headmaster knows Remus is still at school,” Mr Potter agreed.

James gave the fireplace one last try before he had to give up. He trudged through the house to the kitchen and let his parents dote on him, all the while his thoughts were filled with worry.

Seeing the look on Sirius’s face didn’t help matters. Sirius looked disturbed, deep lined creasing his forehead where his brows were pulled together. He, and not James, saw how frightening Moony’s moods had been on the last full moon. He, not James, had his life threatened over the girl. He, not James, worried not that Moony would run wild in the castle, but that he would run wild over Mione. She was smart, yes. She was powerful, yes. She knew what Remus was, yes. But she didn’t know where he was. She thought she was safe and alone in the castle, when she was anything but.

Even if he was found and taken to the Shrieking Shack, Moony’s pre-moon rise moods would likely bring him to Mione. If he was depressed, she would comfort him. If he was jovial, she would laugh with him. If he was libidinous, she didn’t stand a chance.


	19. Heat

19: Heat

Hermione had only spent a handful of her Christmas holidays at Hogwarts. On those occasions she had been there to support her friends, and spent her time with them. Now she was alone. The few students remaining at Hogwarts this Christmas were so scattered they didn’t manage to find one another unless they were together in the Great Hall for meals. Breakfast had been a desolate affair, Hermione sitting alone at the Hufflepuff table, as no one else was awake to sit with her. Lunch had scarcely been better; she managed to see just who was left. She counted two Ravenclaws, Snape at the Slytherin table, no Gryffindors and just herself at the Hufflepuff table, plus the Headmaster and Professors McGonagall, Morven and Sinistra. Hagrid was there, but tending to the grounds. She hadn’t been this lonely since the first two months of her first year at Hogwarts.

The only bright side was that she was able to spread out and research in the comfortable chairs by the fire in the Hufflepuff common room. It was worrying at first, as the fire sputtered a bit in the early afternoon like someone was trying to connect through the Floo Network. No one ever entered the room and no faces appeared in the fire, so she thought it must have been a misdirected summons and returned to her notes.

She was getting closer to her answer on how to build her own Time-Turner. The theories matched in all the books, though the methods varied. She could probably make it work with the information she had, but there would certainly be more books in the Restricted Section that would help her. Perhaps even books that would spell out the experiments in detail along with the results. That would give her a much greater chance for success.

A grumbling stomach called her to dinner, which was cosier than the previous two meals. The long tables had been replaced with a single circular one around which the whole student body and staff could sit and dine together. Snape eyed Mione with suspicion, but said nothing in front of the others. He was the only black cloud amid the sparkling Yule cheer. Dumbledore smiled and giggled merrily, toasting the students and the teachers each in turn. Mione had a wonderful time, but would have liked the opportunity to ask one of the teachers for access to the books she needed. Books and lessons were far from their minds, however, and she had to sit and eat and make small talk with the Ravenclaws.

Professors McGonagall and Sinistra rose on wobbly legs and helped one another to the door. Dumbledore twinkled at the merriment and wished the students a good night, shaking the hand of each one as they left the table. Mione wanted to linger and make her request, but Snape stood behind her listening closely.

“Miss Garnier, I do hope you enjoyed your first Hogwarts’ Christmas Eve feast,” Dumbledore spoke warmly.

“I did, Professor,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

“You must come and see me when the term has started again. We have much to discuss and neither of us seem to have found the time to do so,” he looked at her meaningfully.

“I will happily make the time for such a discussion, Professor.”

“Excellent, excellent,” he nodded. “Ah, Mr Snape…”

She left the Great Hall as Dumbledore took Severus’s hand and began speaking to him warmly and at great length. She questioned whether the Headmaster was sober enough to plan for her escape so effectively or if he was simply in a talkative mood. Either way, it meant she could make her way toward her dorm free of her sinister and suspicious shadow.

The walk took considerably longer than normal, her pace was so slow and her mind befuddled by the feast. Leaning on a cool stone wall to catch her breath, she sighed. It was all so familiar to her, yet so very different. The castle, the classes, even Snape; he was chasing her around while she studied things that most students wouldn’t dare look at. Except now she wasn’t worried about Snape deducting points from her House or getting her expelled, but… well she didn’t quite know what she was afraid of Snape doing if he really did learn her secret.

“Une vie étrange,” she muttered to herself.

“I love when you speak French.”

She started at the voice, jerked away from the wall and turned to face its source. There was no one there. She felt hands, large and firm, grip her arms and pull her forcefully into the nearest empty classroom.

“Lumos,” the voice commanded. The candles in the room ignited, filling the room with a soft and flickering glow.

“Show yourself!” Mione demanded.

“Anything for you,” the voice soothed.

The hands released her. She heard the rustling of fabric and Remus stood before her, the invisibility cloak tossed aside. He was surprisingly fit for the night of the first full moon, looking as if he had just run from the dungeons to the top of the Astronomy tower, breath heavy and hair as messy as James’s. His skin glowed with a healthy flush and his eyes were bright and sparkling with thoughts no longer hidden. His smile was positively lupine, hungry and wicked and sexy. It was a smile that belonged on Sirius, not Remus.

She considered his voice, low and husky, so different from his soft tones that she hadn’t even recognised it. It worried her, as did his appearance. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to be on the train to London,” she said, backing away.

He followed her, keeping the distance between them uncomfortably tight. “I couldn’t bear to be without you. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m rather fond of you.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” she lied and inched closer to the door.

“Really? Perhaps you need a demonstration, then.” One short stride closed the gap between them. He leaned in and stole her mouth.

Hermione would have been lying if she said she had not imagined what his kiss would be like. She had thought, given his desire to be more human than anyone else, he would have kissed gently and slowly. This kiss was anything but; he was trying to devour her. His tongue forced its way into her mouth and claimed every inch, reaching in and easily dominating hers. Her lips ached as he crushed his against hers. Her neck felt as if it might snap from the strain.

She felt the wall on her back before she realised that she had been moving. The stone that had been such a cool comfort minutes before was now bruising her shoulder blades. She tried to push him away. He gripped her wrists and pinned them to the wall on either side of her head to keep her from trying again. He leaned into her, trapping her body between his and the wall.

She gasped into the kiss when his leg slid between hers; he lifted her weight until she was all but sitting on his thigh. Her head was spinning. Her heart was pounding out a Morse code signal, dashing and dotting a message to her whole body. The message was received and it made her stomach clench and heat and moisture pool very close to where his leg was pressing on her inner thighs.

One final push into her mouth, hard and painful, and he broke the kiss. His eyes watched her reaction, saw the flushed cheeks and sheen of sweat, saw her fighting to catch her breath. He watched her lips, swollen and trembling. He wanted to claim them again, but she was trying to speak.

“I,” she gasped. “I… think I see… what you were talking about…”

“That’s not all,” Remus assured her in a soft whisper, licking at her lips. “I know what a thorough student you are. You need to verify everything. You like ample evidence, tangible evidence.” He ground his hips into her and she could feel the very _tangible_ evidence of his fondness, so _ample_ it was downright invasive.

He leaned in and brought his lips down in a kiss so gentle she thought that he was back to his normal self. The tender touch, so soft, so sweet, made her sigh and open her mouth to him. He did not accept her invitation, much as it pleased him. He moved his lips down to her jaw, her neck, her throat. The kisses so light it felt to her like he was barely breathing against her skin before moving on. It was tantalising and flooded her with warmth.

The sweet moisture on her skin beckoned. His tongue pulled along her throat, making her groan with the unexpected sensation. If she reacted so strongly to his lips and tongue, he wondered what she would do if his teeth came out to play. He nipped at her earlobe, and she gasped. He nibbled the length of her collar bone; she squirmed. He scraped his teeth forcefully on her neck, bringing the delicate white flesh into his mouth to suck gently on it; she had to bite her bruised lip to keep from moaning.

“Remus,” she begged. “Please stop.”

“No,” he smiled devilishly down at her. “I won’t leave you in any doubt of my feelings.”

He kissed her again to keep her from protesting. His mouth was so delicious and distracting that she didn’t notice he had released her hands. She kept them against the wall as if he was still holding them there.

His hands had found something better to occupy their focus. One slowly ran up her spine, caressing the silk, until it found the bare skin at the nape of her neck, his fingers massaging circles into her soft flesh. His other hand had more daring. It found her knee, locked against his hip in reaction to his deep kiss, and followed the naked skin up past the hem of her skirt; his touch was so light that at first she didn’t feel it, but, as he moved under the silk of her Beauxbatons uniform, he pressed his palm down to feel the virgin skin, and she gasped in shock. Taking her noises as encouragement, he ran his palm further up to cup her round backside. She rocked her hips into his and broke free of his kiss.

“Remus, don’t,” she could barely breathe. “I believe you.”

“But I’ve only just started,” he pouted. “I haven’t even shown you what I would do here.” He slid it between her thighs. His fingers brushed hard into the soft material of her panties and she gasped. He quite liked the sound and did it again, harder. He felt the damp fabric and knew she liked his touch, though modesty kept her from admitting it.

Ever the good student, Remus knew that if she responded so enthusiastically with the piece of cloth between them then without it she would be in ecstasy. He reached his long fingers around the material and repeated the small actions that had made her gasp. He was not disappointed. Mione hissed and moaned; her knees buckled and her full weight fell onto his thigh and his eager hand.

“Remu –“

He silenced her with his hungry mouth, ravaging her with his tongue while his fingers mimicked the motions down below. She was quaking against him and her freed hands were pulling on his shoulders, pushing at his chest, digging into his arms until they drew blood.

Remus was growing hotter, his blood boiling and making his desire more urgent. He forced his hips hard into hers and felt the heat and moisture increase inside her. It was almost enough to make him burst. He pushed back suddenly, releasing his hold on her and leaving her clinging to the wall to keep from falling. She was gorgeous, her skin pale yet still flushed, her lips bruised and begging for him to come back, her dress wet from her own excitement.

A growl rose from deep in his throat and he pulled her onto a table, pressing her down. He wanted her, all of her.

“Mione,” he breathed, his voice low and dangerous. “I–“

The heat of his blood overtook him, spreading through his entire body and into every muscle, feeding them with hormones and magic. A scream ripped from his throat and he bent double in pain.

Mione scrambled to move clear as Remus began thrashing, trying to fight the changes that he knew were coming. His bones were already realigning themselves, his muscles growing.

The moon had risen.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first every attempt at writing such things. I am sorry.


	20. Howl

His scream ripped through Hermione as if she were the one in pain. Her instincts were to comfort him, but she could see the predatory gleam already showing in his eyes. Remus's desire was boiling over into a lust of a different kind; he wanted her blood. The werewolf was not fully formed and the bloodlust had him. She knew the only thing saving her was the crippling agony of the transformation, once it stopped she would be as good as dead.

She ran for the door, shutting it with a hard bang and locking it. She raised her wand, a warding spell on her lips as Remus slammed so forcefully against the door that the heavy wood splintered after only one impact.

Terror fuelled her legs to run before the spell was cast. Even as she ran she tried to remember where she was; in her feast-induced stupor she had walked not to the Hufflepuff's dorms but to the Gryffindor's. She ran back the way she had come, leaping onto the moving staircase before it came to a complete stop and racing down the worn marble stairs to the landing below. The howl haunted her every step. Remus's screams had filled her with sympathy, but this sound only made her run faster. It echoed off the bare stones, the sound waves crashing against her from every direction. The werewolf was fully formed, and he was chasing her.

He smelled her sweat and fear and arousal. He hunted those sweet aromas through the corridors and staircases, around corners and through hidden passages until he found the portrait guarding the Hufflepuff entrance. The painted man screamed and ran for safety as the claws came down on his canvas. Magic was more powerful than the wolf's claws and the torn painting revealed only solid wall. The werewolf howled in rage. The smells he wanted were there, concentrated and overpowering, just beyond the wall, but he could not reach them. He howled again. The primal cry amplified in the narrow stone passage and made the painting of a fruit bowl rattle and fall from the opposite wall. The wolf growled at the sudden noise, turned and ran.

Mione, her back flat against the wall, flinched at the sounds, and held her breath. It was foolish, she knew. The werewolf's hearing was no keener than Remus's, but she was terrified and it was the only thing that she could do. The howl rose again, long and mournful and distant. Hearing how far away the werewolf now was, she released her breath shakily.

The girl looked down at herself for the first time that evening. She was a mess, wrinkled and torn and wet; probably the only tidy thing about her was her charmed hair. Safe from the wolf, she wobbled to the girls' dormitory to clean herself up. Her limbs were shaking from adrenaline, her body aching for Remus to finish what he had started, her heart racing with lingering fear of her safety. She fell into the bath, forcing herself to relax. Mione felt like her hygiene was the only things she could fully and consciously control at that moment, and she wanted to seize upon it.

For the first time since taking up residence in the Hufflepuff dormitory, Hermione was glad that it was in the lower levels of the castle. There were virtually no windows, so she could bath without fear of the wolf or any other prying eyes looking in on her as she lay in the bath, her hands roaming as Remus’s had. The effect was not the same. It didn't help that she could still hear the werewolf howling through the walls. She wished she could have petrified him and taken him to the Shrieking Shack as she had in November, but his attentions had completely strangled out her reason and all she could think to do was run.

After her bath, she dressed in borrowed clothes, feeling the need to wear the most comfortable and warm flannel pyjamas Edlyn or Pamela had. She took a book from the table and sat down in front of the fire, hoping to take her mind off the werewolf's calls still echoing in her ears and from the remaining warmth where Remus had caressed her. It didn't work. Her skin still vibrated with the memory of his fondness. She closed her eyes and let the memories replay in her mind, his kisses and his fingers and his whispers and his hips. Her imagination took up where he had left off, following his actions to their logical conclusion with Mione enjoying every second of her time pressed against the table.

A deep howl sounded again, frighteningly close. It startled her from her fantasies.

There was a window on the staircase that led to the boys' dorms. From it she might be able to see where Remus was and what he was doing. Driven by curiosity, she tip-toed to the staircase and peered out into the night. Through the thick leaded-glass panes all she saw was the white of fallen snow.

She sighed, so much for satisfying her curiosity.

As she turned to leave, the snow moved. She leaned in, perplexed, and watched the thick snow shift inch by inch. She stood on her toes to look through the window, squinting her eyes against the darkness to see whatever lay beyond. She expected to see some small animal seeking the warmth provided by the poorly-insulated window, what she was a pair of eyes, huge and yellow. The werewolf, staring in at her, intently, triumphantly.

If he could register human emotions, Remus would be feeling satisfaction, elation, desire. He drew in a long, slow breath; beneath the flowery soap and shampoo, he could smell the girl’s fear and the arousal. A low growl rolled from his throat as he savoured the smells she carried.

Mione shrunk against the wall. She wanted to run away but feared that the sudden movement of her flight would only make things worse. She needn't have worried, it couldn't get much worse.

The werewolf pushed at the glass with his paws and snout. Magic though the castle might be, Mione didn't think it could withstand the force of the werewolf's desire to get in. The glass began to bow and crack under his weight. One by one the panes split and shattered and fell to the floor by her feet. The heavy leading bent and folded, acting as a slightly more difficult barrier to the wolf.

A snarl sounded in the darkness and the wolf whipped its head around. Without his yellow eyes on her, Mione was free to run. And run she did. She was clear across the common room in a single breath, terror turning her into the most athletic Hufflepuff Hogwarts had ever seen. She was running to the portrait hole, not certain where she would go. If she wasn't safe from the werewolf in the locked and warded dormitory, where could she hide?

"Mione?" a voice called. "Mione!"

She skidded to a stop and turned. "Peter?"

Round little Peter Pettigrew was scrambling through the Hufflepuff common room after her, pale and panting. She was extremely impressed that he had managed to slip around the angry werewolf and through the broken window, but evasiveness was one of his strongest character trait. He grabbed her wrist with his pudgy hand and ran to the portrait hole. She didn't question how he knew his way around another House so well.

"Remus is mental!" Peter gasped as he ran. "Gotta get you somewhere safe."

The girl was taken aback. She assumed he had snuck past Remus to escape his raging, but he had braved it for her. This boy she hated for something he hadn't yet done was risking his life to keep her from danger. She wanted to hug him, but continued to run instead. She realised where he was dragging her, and began to run with more confidence. Up the moving staircase, down the corridor and left to the landing where the Fat Lady in a pink dress sat preening herself.

"Password?" she asked.

"Serpens Caput," Peter wheezed.

The painting swung aside and Peter pushed Mione through. The Gryffindor common room looked almost exactly as it had the last time she had seen it, twenty years from now. The photographs on the mantle and spell-o-taped to the walls were different, but the rest was the same. She wondered what magic spells kept the dorm in a perpetual state of comfortable wear.

"We're in the tower, so Moony can't get you here," Peter assured her. "You can go wherever you like. No one is here to get angry if you look at their stuff. But don't leave whatever you do. Right?"

"Right," Mione agreed. "Peter… Thank you."

Peter looked back at her once to make sure she wasn't following before he hurried out the portrait hole. Hermione stood in the familiar room feeling very alone. She ran to the window to look for Remus and the others, and saw him standing on his hind legs howling up at the moon or possibly at Gryffindor Tower. He ran for the main entrance, but a stag blocked his path. A huge black dog snapped at the wolf's left legs, trying to steer him away from the castle. As she watched, a rat scurried down the steps and climbed the werewolf's back. All three of his friends worked to keep Remus from entering the castle, they bit and prodded and pushed until he finally ran for the Forbidden Forrest.

At the edge of the forest, he turned, his yellow eyes locking onto Mione in the high window, and he howled. The baleful sound filled her ears and clung to her consciousness for the rest of the night.

oOo

Mione jerked awake, and not for the first time that night. Her dreams were filled with the werewolf’s yellow eyes and hungry teeth, but also Remus’s lips and hands. If she wasn't waking up in a cold sweat, she was waking up with a painful ache between her legs. She had no idea Remus could be so forceful; it was frightening and exciting and frustrating and, well, confusing. She did the only thing that she could think of to sort out the chaotic and conflicting thoughts in her brain–make a list.

A search of the common room found her a piece of parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink. She pulled a table to the fire and started thinking. She quickly wrote the characteristics of the Remus she had come to know rather intimately, his skills and predilections, finding that she knew quite a lot about him, more than she had realised. His preference for DADA was not surprising nor was his studious nature, but she knew which side of the desk he preferred to sit at in class, that his favourite ink colour was blue, that he always chose hot chocolate over butterbeer and jacket potatoes over mashed. He preferred jackets to jumpers. He hated pears but ate them anyway because his mother said they were her favourite fruit. She even knew that Marigolds made him sneeze.

Once she had exhausted her list of young Remus Lupin, she turned to older Remus Lupin. He was well-versed in defence, which was an interest and talent she could see in the younger. He possessed a strong sense of right and wrong, which again she saw in his younger self; no doubt the result of prejudice against his condition all his life. She considered his skills in battling the Death Eaters, how potent his magic was and how he held off the worst of them when Sirius fell behind the curtain. She stopped writing, and remembered the chaos of that battle. Though Hermione had been left unconscious in a different room in the Department of Mysteries, she knew from Harry that Remus had proven himself not only reliable and resourceful but also powerful.

Really, Hermione thought, it's not all that surprising that he's forceful.

It was, she found, quite comforting.

Hermione considered turning the parchment over and attempting a similar list for Ronald Weasley, but thought the comparison would do him no favours. She crumpled the parchment and threw it into the fire. After watching it burn for a moment, she stood and went to the room that would be hers in twenty years and to the bed that would be hers. She fell down onto the mattress, surrounded once again by Gryffindor scarlet, and slept soundly. Her dreams were not disturbed by Remus again, for she knew him to be as she had always known him–clever, powerful and dangerous.

Just before dawn, she woke. She was not startled to find herself back in Gryffindor tower, but she grew melancholy when she thought of having to go back down to the lower levels and sleep in the Hufflepuff dormitory with so few windows. She hadn't been aware of how much she missed the light. Opening the heavy curtains and sitting down on the window ledge, she watched the sky shift ever paler. It was a glorious morning, the clouds scattered and thin. The grounds were beautiful and white, marred slightly by the chaotic pattern of prints the werewolf and Animagi had made the previous evening. She tried to follow the lines and interpret the movements as she would a diagram of dances in a book, but she could not manage the overlapping paths. Her eyes settled on the single trail that led to the Forbidden Forrest; there were no tracks leading back to the castle, which meant Remus had spent the whole night prowling the dark and knotty wilderness, and his friends had followed to keep him safe and to help him back when he returned to himself.

There was movement near the tree line, figures coming slowly closer. James emerged first, supporting a limping Peter. They looked tired, and Hermione fought tears when they got close enough for her to see the trail of blood Peter was leaving in his wake. The two were in the castle before the others appeared. Sirius staggered into her view. He stopped and leaned heavily on a tree. The black-haired boy was shivering, wearing only his Hogwarts jumper and trousers against the frigid morning air. His robe, she saw, was wrapped around Remus.

"Remus," she whispered and looked hard to see that he was all right.

He was clinging to the robe and stumbling forward. Sirius pushed himself off the tree, leaning on Remus as much to keep himself upright as to keep his friend from falling over. As they trudged closer, Hermione could see their faces. Sirius looked like he was sleeping while awake. Remus looked haggard, deep lines of worry creasing his face. He glanced upward and saw her watching. His face grew a ghastly white and pain flashed across his features. His eyes turned away quickly.

She ran for the portrait hole, wanting to see him, but stopped with the realisation that she was in someone else's pyjamas. That was no way to present herself. Her few items of clothing were in the Hufflepuff dormitory, which she had no hope of getting into while the painting was it tatters. She ran to the dressers lining the room; Peter had said not to worry about riffling through. While she was concerned about his lack of respect for boundaries and personal property, she wanted to put her best face forward. She found a skirt and jumper in the dresser that would be hers and put them on. She found shoes beneath another bed and borrowed those as well. A quick check of her hair and a damp washcloth across her face and she was running down the spiral staircase, through the common room and out the portrait hole to see Remus.


	21. A Kind Suggestion

Mione rounded the corner and pulled herself to a stop in the entrance hall. She wanted to put her best face forward; running full blast, gasping for air, wearing a worried expression and other peoples’ clothes was not her best face. She caught her breath and walked calmly, though purposefully, toward the Great Hall. She paused to calm her nerves and arrange her face to look anything but anxious before she entered through the open door. The Gryffindor table was to her right. She looked along the length of it from entrance to high table. There was no one there. Nor was there anyone at the other three tables. However, the smell of eggs and sausage filled her nose. They had come, eaten and left while she put on her best face.

She wondered where they would be by now.

“Miss Garnier,” the warm and worry-free voice of Professor Dumbledore spoke to her. “Your friends are in the hospital wing. They had a rough night, as I understand it.”

“Oh, thank you, Professor.” She turned to leave, but he placed a gentle and firm hand on her shoulder.

“I believe Madam Pomfrey would be quite angry with me if I let you disturb her patients,” Dumbledore said apologetically. “I’m afraid you and I will both have to wait to speak to them.”

“You want to speak to them, too?”

“Indeed, I do,” he nodded solemnly, and suddenly looked up, his face concerned. “I nearly forgot something terribly important I meant to say.”

“Professor?”

“Happy Christmas,” he said with a small smile.

It was Christmas Day. In the excitement of the previous night she had lost track of the date. There were no gifts at the end of her temporary bed, but she had not been anticipating any. She was shocked at herself for thinking first of gifts when her friends were in hospital, far from their families on Christmas. They had rushed back from London to help Remus and protect her, and she was concerned about not getting any _presents_? Hermione was growing to dislike her French counterpart; she was frivolous and shallow.

“Professor, when will I be able to see them?” she asked.

“Not for some time, I suspect. Two days, at least.” His blue eyes twinkled with hidden meaning.

Two days. Not until the full moon ended. She always had a feeling that the Headmaster knew more about the goings-on at Hogwarts than he let on, and she fought a blush that threatened to consume her face wondering if he knew what Remus had been up to last night before the moon rose.

“I was considering your situation, Miss Garnier,” Dumbledore said after a pause during which he had taken a strange interest in the pattern of the wood grain on the bench, allowing Mione time to regain her composure. “It seems you have been making quite an impression on young Mr Lupin.”

“I hadn’t meant to.”

“No, but these things cannot be helped,” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “However, a little distance might be wise.”

Mione blanched. She had considered her proximity to the Marauders a potential danger, but to have the Headmaster tell her to stop being their friend meant she had grown closer than even she realised. How many tiny yet vital events in their lives had she disrupted with her selfish friendship?

“As pleasant as it is having you here with us, you must go back home,” Dumbledore smiled. “Surely, Mr Lupin’s behaviour toward you has shown you how dangerous your situation is.”

“About that,” she swallowed hard. “The werewolf seemed particularly intent on reaching me. He broke the window to the Hufflepuff dorm.”

“I believe you are the first person Mr Lupin has ever seen when he is transformed. As such, he is quite intent on capturing you.”

“There’s something else,” she admitted in a small voice, terrified of his reaction and what it might mean. “Last month, I cut myself in the Shrieking Shack.”

Dumbledore paused, his expression heavy. “Then it is worse than I thought.”

“How much worse?” She looked at him, her hazel eyes pleading.

The twinkle faded completely from his eye as he spoke, “Consider a starving man presented with a single kernel of corn. Would that kernel satisfy him or serve only to increase his awareness of his hunger?”

Mione’s knees fell from under her and she dropped heavily onto a bench. Dumbledore sat beside her, speaking low, “In his entire life, he has yet to satisfy his taste for human blood. Your blood has shown the werewolf what he is missing.”

“What will happen when I return home?”

He considered the question. What would twenty years of unfulfilled desire do to the werewolf? What distances would he cross to slake his thirst with her blood? “That is a mystery even to me. I would think the taste would fade over time, but if left unsatisfied it may grow with the years and distance; much like love.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, but his eyes were twinkling again. He really did think all would be well. She wanted to believe him, but he had put a new fear into her. What if the bloodlust did not fade in the twenty years between now and her time? What would that mean for his tenure as her DADA teacher? Would the werewolf know her smell when they met the night of Pettigrew’s escape? Had she changed her own history and his future with an accidental cut to her arm?

The old wizard easily interpreted the expressions as they passed over her face. Legilimency was nothing compared to a lifetime of interaction with people. He knew people’s thoughts by the slightest frown. “Do not worry yourself over questions that cannot be answered,” he advised her. “Instead, look to your research. You are quite close to a solution for your problem, I understand.”

“Nearly, Professor, but I need access to the Restricted Section before I can start experimenting.”

“I thought that you might. Go to the library and you will find Madam Pince most helpful in assisting you in the Restricted Section,” Dumbledore smiled serenely.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“And consider my suggestion. Your absence will be hard on dear Mr Lupin if you continue to stay so close to him while you are with us.” He stood and walked from the Great Hall leaving Mione alone to consider his words.

He was right. She had only gotten close to Remus as a means to reach the invisibility cloak, which she no longer needed. Her research was yielding greater results than she had anticipated, and she would probably find a way to repair the Time-Turner before the end of term. She would not have to break into the Ministry to steal a Time-Turner; she would not need the invisibility cloak. That still left her with three boys, maybe four, she would be pained to part with. She had not expected them to grow so attached to her, nor she to them.

She had to step away, but how could she do that without an explanation? She could not just stop being their friend. Perhaps she could manufacture a reason. In her experience with Ron and Harry, there were often times when they did or said things that upset her enough that she stopped talking to them for quite some time. Remus’s behaviour toward her could easily be used as a reason. Generally speaking, girls don’t take kindly to being assaulted by their male friends. Although, Mione had been a little frightened by the unnatural forwardness, she had quite enjoyed his actions, but he did not know that. If his face that morning had been any indication, he feared her reaction as much as he did the coming of the full moon.

Her heart clenched to think that she would use his illness as a reason to stay away from him. He had clearly been under the influence of the full moon when he pulled her into that classroom to demonstrate his fondness for her. He was persecuted as it was, to tell him that she refused to be his friend or girlfriend because of his condition would be inexcusable.

No, she thought. I’ll find another way.

She barely touched her breakfast before going to the library. It was Christmas Day, but she knew Madam Pince would be there with her treasured volumes. The woman glared at the sixth year as she pulled out several books from the Restricted Section. She read in the library for hours, noting the shuffle of the woman’s feet as she passed by periodically to make sure Mione wasn’t doing anything to her books.

Mione continued to read, finding in the first book a detailed account of one wizard’s attempt to crystallise time using a spell. It was completed and published by his assistant after the wizard blew himself up on his fourth attempt. Mione saw the spell used was the one she had read about in one of the other books, and made a side note that the spell was volatile beside her initial notes. She read through the book, closed it and set it aside.

“Most people treat Christmas as a holiday, you know,” Remus muttered.

Hermione nearly screamed. She hadn’t heard him walk up or pull out a chair or sit down. Yet there he was, sitting across the table from her, leaning back in the chair, his feet propped on the seat beside her, holding a book lazily in his long fingers. It was one of her books and he didn’t seem to like it very much.

“Remus! I thought– Shouldn’t you be in hospital?” she asked, trying to sound annoyed, but she was still breathless from his sudden appearance.

“The others are in far worse shape,” he shrugged. “Madam Pomfrey just told me to sleep it off.”

“Right…” she said quietly.

“I came to apologise.”

She paused. This could be it. The excuse she needed to stop talking to him, to put a solid barrier between them. She looked at him, pale and tired, scars on his arms from where the wolf had torn into him, and she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. “It’s not your fault. The werewolf—“

“I’m not apologizing for him,” Remus interrupted. “I’m no more responsible for his actions than for yours.”

“Then what are you apologising for?”

“For being such a coward. I should have told you how I felt, but I was afraid of what you would say. The cat’s out of the bag now, though.” He raked a hand through his hair, already threaded with grey. “I like you… a lot.”

“I had noticed that last night,” she said, ducking her head to hide the blush.

“The point is if I’d said something before, maybe I wouldn’t have behaved quite so roughly when I went to tell you last night.”

Her head snapped up and she looked hard at him. “‘Quite so roughly’? As opposed to doing it gently? So you meant to attack me?”

“No, I meant to express my feelings,” Remus sighed. “But the full moon acts like alcohol. I lose my inhibitions, forget the consequences and all I can do is what I want to do. And I wanted to kiss you.”

“You did a little more than kiss me, Remus,” she was fighting anger and hysterics. He had known what he was doing. He meant to do it. He wasn’t sorry. If she hadn’t already decided against hating him for this, she would have slapped him.

“Yes,” he said softly. “I probably would have done even more.”

She ducked her head again, her wide eyes staring at her borrowed skirt. She was shocked at how forward he was. This quiet, gentle boy who was too afraid to say that he liked her was all but spelling out how he had planned to have sex with her. The moon must already be pulling on him to have him saying such things. How much must it have been influencing him to make him shirk his Prefect duties and remain at Hogwarts?

“Wait,” she said. “The train left for London well before the full moon. There is absolutely no excuse for you staying here to tell me how much you like me. You left your parents to worry!”

“I was thinking of them when I skipped the train,” he replied. “Sirius told me I was more of a bastard than usual last month. I didn’t think I would be a very good son to make them put up with that at Christmas.”

“You make it very hard for me to not like you,” she grumbled.

“Good.” A grin pulled at his face; it was another one of those looks that belonged on Sirius. Though it wasn’t as leering as the one from the previous night, it still made him far too attractive given her intention of distancing herself.

“So!” he sighed. “I see you’re not giving up on your plans to go home.”

“No. I’m not staying,” she said definitely.

“Even after I finally managed to express myself?”

“Especially after that,” she replied, trying not to mimic his flirtatious tone. “I can’t get attached to anyone.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t get attached to you.”

“You shouldn’t. It’s dangerous.”

“I don’t know if you noticed,” he said, smiling, “but _I_ am dangerous. You think a little more danger scares me?”

“This is a different kind of danger.”

“It doesn’t frighten me.”

“It would if you understood,” she assured him. “You’re very smart and you more than anyone, besides Dumbledore, would appreciate how important it is for me to leave.”

“Well in that case, I don’t want to understand if it means letting you go,” he shrugged. “Instead, let’s pretend I’m an idiot and go have dinner.”

“Remus,” she chided, not able to keep the playfulness from her voice.

“Nope, I’m a dolt,” he insisted. “I wouldn’t understand what Morgan Hornbuckle’s experiment was about if she hopped into my lap and explained it to me in very small words.” He tossed Madam Hornbuckle’s book aside and stood. “Dinner.”

 

 


	22. Second Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sirius is the only one with any sense.

Hermione was screaming at herself to stop, to think, to protest, but Mione ignored her. Mione let Remus take her hand and pull her from her seat.

Hermione wanted to know when she had stopped being rational and responsible. She wanted to know when a boy managed to dig into her so deeply that he could control her with a playful tone and a sexy grin. She was Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, not some ridiculous teenage girl who would tag along after a boy, no matter how smart or handsome, no matter how his eyes glinted, no matter how clever his fingers were.

Professor Dumbledore was sitting at the single circular table, flipping happily through a book he had received as a gift from Madam Pince. Hermione saw his blue eyes peering over the top of the book and across the Great Hall to look at her hand in Remus’s. This was the exact opposite of what he had suggested, and she knew it. She looked down at her feet, ashamed. With a great effort, she pulled her hand free. Dumbledore smiled behind his book.

“I thought we would continue our cosy arrangement for our Christmas feast,” Dumbledore said after the last of the students had arrived.

“Happy Christmas, Albus,” Professor McGonagall gave a rare smile.

“And to you, Minerva.” His eyes twinkled merrily. “And to everyone.”

The Christmas feast was as delicious as any she remembered having at Hogwarts. It was only darkened by the way Snape kept narrowing his eyes at Remus, as if the Gryffindor had decided to stay just to annoy him. Mione was glad for the Headmaster’s presence; she suspected Snape would be making snide comments about the full moon if Dumbledore had not been there to remind him of his promise. Hermione assumed it was not an Unbreakable Vow he had made, otherwise Lupin would still be a professor at Hogwarts.

She glanced over at Remus; he was as young as she was, just sixteen or seventeen years old. She reminded herself who he was or rather who he would become. He was Professor R. J. Lupin, the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher she had ever known, a member of the Order of the Phoenix and twenty years her senior despite current appearances. It helped sober her giddiness a bit. She dropped her head and closed her eyes, bringing back the memory of Lupin as she knew him–taller, older, wiser, more tempered. She kept that picture in her mind as she looked up and saw him smirking at her. This was not her Lupin. This was a Lupin she was never meant to know. This was a Lupin she would have to forget.

Remus’s brow creased as he saw her looking at him critically. It was the same look she used when researching–clinical and appraising. He didn’t want to know what she saw. He was afraid of what she thought of him in the distant and cold terms of a scholar. The playful spark he had seen in her eye earlier had gone out, and that worried him. If she decided he was not worth the danger and monthly mood swings, she would leave, and he didn’t think he would be able to convince her otherwise. Pain like the wolf’s teeth gripped his chest, his stomach turned and the grin fell from his lips.

“I wish you all a pleasant evening and a Happy Christmas,” Dumbledore rose and began shaking hands and wishing-well as he had the previous night.

“Mr Lupin, I do hope you will find safe shelter this evening,” he spoke quietly.

“I will, Professor, soon,” Remus promised.

Dumbledore looked hard into his eyes, gauging his sincerity before releasing the boy from his grip and turning to Mione. “Miss Garnier, I hope you are enjoying your new books.”

“I am, Professor. They are very helpful, thank you,” Mione smiled.

“Excellent,” the old man clapped his hands happily. “Ah, Mr Snape…”

Mione left while Professor Dumbledore was gripping Severus’s hand and inquiring after the boy’s most talented mother. She was certain that he was distracting Snape on purpose, and took full advantage. She was out of the Great Hall and well on her way to the library before Snape managed to extract his hand from the Headmaster’s strong, bejewelled grip.

She was surprised Remus wasn’t waiting for her somewhere along the route. It was a relief; she had seen the stricken expression on his face and worried that he might be growing ill from the effects of the moon. The girl had every intention of separating herself from him, but that didn’t mean she was going to do it while he was suffering because of his condition and lonely away from home and family. She shook her head sadly and entered the library.

It was all but dark when she went in; most of the lamps had been extinguished. Her books had been returned to the Restricted Section and the gate had been locked. She would not be borrowing any books that night. Madam Pince was waving her wand, stacking the chairs onto the tables. The woman, old in every sense except in her actual number of years, glared at her. Mione collected her things and left, Madam Pince eyeing her the whole way.

“Not very friendly, is she?” Remus said conversationally as soon as she came within earshot.

He was leaning on a carved pillar, hands so deep in his pockets they might well have been touching his knees. His shoulders were rounded and his face drawn. He was on the depressive end of his mood spectrum, that much was obvious even to her.

“No,” Mione said. “She isn’t, but she does her job.”

“‘Does her job’,” he repeated bitterly. “Yes, it’s all about fulfilling obligations with you, isn’t it? You don’t go in for passion and whims. You only care about doing what’s expected.”

“That is not true.” She ignored his flinty eyes and walked away.

“Really? Then why so keen to get away?” He was close, so close his whisper sounded harsh and loud. “You said yourself you like it here, you like me, my charming friends, but you keep trying to leave. Hours you spend every weekend reading incomprehensible books and taking little notes. What for?”

“I told you, I _have_ to go. It’s dangerous for me to stay.”

“Says who?”

“Says me, says Dumbledore.”

“Ah, The Headmaster commands and you obey.”

“No, well, yes, but only because I know he’s right.”

“Even if it hurts? Even if it breaks your heart? My heart?” He was in front of her now, walking backwards to keep his narrowed eyes on her face. “What are hearts when the rules are at stake?”

“It’s not about rules. It is bigger than me, bigger than you,” she said slowly, hoping he would listen to her. “A lot more people will get hurt if I stay than if I go home. But you said you didn’t want to hear it.”

“Maybe I do now.”

“All right.” She turned into the nearest classroom. He followed. She dropped her bag onto a desk and dug into it; he leaned in behind her, his body pressed against hers and his breath warm on her neck. She stood, bringing a small box up from the depths of her bag. “The whole truth.”

“Are you capable of such a thing?”

“Believe it or not, Remus, I don’t like lying.”

He scoffed. “Fine. What’s that, then?”

“A Time-Turner,” she told him as she opened the box. He looked inside expecting something magnificent and worth having a heart broken over, but it was just a necklace, a damaged one at that. She reached in and pulled the thin chain up. The pendant, concentric circles of gold with a shattered glass at the centre, swayed in the air before her face. She looked at it longingly, with reverence, and it angered him.

“This let’s a person—“

“I don’t give a fuck!” Remus shouted and threw the Time-Turner to the stone floor. “I don’t care how it works or why it’s broken.”

“You said you wanted to hear it,” Mione reminded him, her voice hard.

“Yes, I want to hear what’s so fucking important that you’re willing to leave something you want,” he demanded. “You want to stay. You want to stay with me–You want me, I want you.” He reached out and touched her face, his slender fingers brushing her bruised lips. When he spoke again, his tone was soft as his touch, “I want you so bad I can’t sleep at night. Do you enjoy knowing I’m going to be left here alone?”

“No, I–“

“You even made _him_ want you,” Remus’s eyes darkened with his mood. “He tasted your blood, and now he wants your flesh as much as I do…” He leaned in and brushed his lips to hers and continued in a seductively low voice, “…possibly for the same reasons. Who knows what goes through a werewolf’s mind during a full moon? For all I know, he wants to fuck you as much as I do.”

She had been entranced by his soft lips and delicious words, but she woke to his final confession, the impersonal nature of it. Hermione slapped him hard across the face.

A Remus in his right mind would have been shocked and begun apologising immediately for his behaviour, but a Remus affected by the coming moon was hardly in his right mind. His lips pulled back into a threatening grin. “Violence begets violence, don’t you know that?”

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled hard, forcing a cry from her mouth. Her mouth, he had almost forgotten about it. He remembered how nice it felt, and wanted more. What he wanted, he took. He pulled her closer and ravaged her mouth.

“Remus!” Sirius shouted as he ran into the room, shoving Remus so hard the boy stumbled and fell to the stone floor.

“Oh, it’s the fucking hero,” he announced to the room, glaring his anger and frustration at the new arrival.

“You need to get to the tunnel,” Sirius stared him down, keeping eye contact as he would with a wild animal.

“There’s only one tunnel I’m interest in, and it’s hers,” the feral grin pulled at his lips.

Sirius pulled the wand from his sleeve and pointed it at his friend. “Go, Moony. Now.”

Remus growled like the wolf he would become. He had no wand; it had been forgotten up in the boys’ dormitory. He could only back away, watching them as he left the room. Sirius followed, wand still raised. He made certain the crazed boy was really gone before he turned to Mione and grabbed her arm.

“You’re hurting me!”

“Good!” Sirius snarled. “That seems to be the only way to get your attention!”

“Let go!” she cried, but no matter how she twisted her arm, his fingers refused to release their hold on her.

“Not until you’re somewhere safe,” he insisted and pulled her through the halls to a familiar blank wall opposite a ridiculous tapestry of a wizard trying to teach trolls ballet. He paced before it three times and stood back as a door appeared. He opened it and pulled her inside. It was a bedroom, comfortable but nothing spectacular.

With the door secured, he rounded on her. “You went to see Remus? Are you stupid?! Or maybe you like the idea of being fucked to death by a ravenous werewolf!”

She slapped him.

His reaction was only slightly more subdued than Remus’s. He pushed her into a chair and leaned in, his hands braced on the wooden arms, blocking her exit. “You need to listen and listen good. Remus _likes_ you. Remus _wants_ you. And that feeling is about one hundred times more powerful before the full moon, with a lot less self-control to reel him in. Just because he hasn’t turned into the wolf yet, doesn’t mean he’s above acting like one.”

“I know that. I thought it might help him if he understood—”

“He doesn’t want to _understand_. He wants _you_ ,” Sirius said again slowly as if she were extremely stupid. “What is there for him to understand? The exact method you plan to use to leave him?”

“No, I wanted him to know, to understand why I can’t stay, can’t be involved—”

“So you decided to tell a love-struck teenager with raging hormones and a bad case of _werewolf_ why you can’t go out with him. And you thought he would be okay with it?” Sirius laughed. “You are not as clever as we all thought you were.”

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms at the insult. Maybe she had not acted as wisely as she could have and perhaps her timing was a bit off, but to call her stupid because of it was just uncalled for.

“Well, at least you’re listening,” Sirius smiled his approval. “Now you will stay here until the full moon is over, and I do mean completely over. You stay here through tomorrow night.”

“What?” She started to rise and protest, but he shoved her back into the chair.

“You’ve tempted him twice, Mione,” he waved a disapproving finger at her. “Third time’s the charm, everyone knows that. Give him one more afternoon and you’ll be stuck with a mate for life.”

She blushed a vibrant Gryffindor scarlet.

“I see by your unflattering colour that you grasp my meaning,” Sirius stood back and folded his arms across his broad chest. “But just to be certain, let me be crass.”

“Weren’t you already?” Mione muttered.

He ignored her and continued, speaking very slowly and clearly as if she were a child being told that matches are not toys. “During the full moon what Moony wants, Moony takes. Moony wants you. If you are stupid enough to meet him again, Moony will take you. Do you understand?”

She glared at him, but still replied, “Yes.”

“I do not appreciate your tone, young lady. I just braved a werewolf for you.”

“Yes, Mr Black,” she replied with a sarcastic mockery of respect.

“Better,” he rolled his eyes. “Where will you spend the night?”

“Here.”

“Where will you spend tomorrow?”

“Here.”

“If Remus comes to call during the day, what will you do?”

“Invite him in for tea, of course,” she said. “What do you think I’m going to do?!”

“Well, I don’t know,” Sirius said. “I would have thought you were smart enough not to go see him after last night, but look where I found you! I really can’t decide if you’re dumb or just like Moony that much. Either way, you are exhibiting spectacularly poor decision-making, young lady.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” Sirius grinned.

If it had been Remus who said it, who grinned at her so brazenly, she would have been tempted to kiss him. As it was not, she stood and shoved him toward the door. “Get out. Go take care of Remus.”

“Ooh, so it is that you like him that much,” he leaned backwards and let her carry his weight. “He will be very pleased to hear that when he’s back to his normal self again.”

“No!” She took a panicked step back and dropped him from her hands as if he were a hot cauldron. He fell hard to the bare stone floor. “You can’t tell him anything!”

“Ow. Why not?” He glared up at her. She looked horrid. It wasn’t just her hair half torn from the chignon; her eyes were pained, shadows darkening her face and lines folding her brow with worry. She looked sick, more so than Moony did with the coming of the full moon. He considered her attempt to explain and knew immediately and with absolute certainty what was going on. “You’re dumping him.”

“I’m not dumping him; we were never going out.”

“Might as well have been,” Sirius propped himself up upon his elbows and watched her. “You turned down everyone but him. Even me!–But that’s neither here nor there.–You spend all your time with him. Chase him down on the full moon after he’s attacked you. You yell at your own friends over him. You clearly like him. Why are you dumping him?”

“Because I have to,” she insisted, fighting the urge to scream, tear her hair out or hex him. “It’s what I tried to tell him tonight. It’s dangerous. I just can’t.”

“Bollocks,” Sirius replied flatly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. It’s bollocks, a pile of shit, fucking nonsense.”

“You sound like him.”

“Well that proves how right I am, then,” he stood, looking down on her. “What the fuck kind of an answer is ‘it’s dangerous’?”

“A true answer.”

“Bollocks.”

“Don’t start that again,” she sighed. “Look, the moon is rising. Remus needs you. Go deal with him. I’m not going anywhere, I swear.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, clearly not believing she would actually stay safely clear of the werewolf’s path, but she was right, the moon was rising and Remus did need him. He pointed a warning finger at her to stay put before he turned and left. The door faded behind him. No one would be able to get in unless they knew what Sirius had thought when he summoned the room. He transformed into his Animagus form and ran on four legs through the castle, following his nose to find his friend before the moon finished rising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been told that the Marauders didn't know about the Room of Requirement, but I wrote this story without checking into canon all that much and it's kind of important to the story... So it has to stay. Sorry to any and all accuracy Nazis.


	23. A Room of One's Own

It was official. Dumbledore really did know everything that happened at Hogwarts.

When Sirius summoned the room, it had been furnished with a bed, a night table and a chair. After a quick trip to the adjoining washroom, Hermione found the Spartan furnishings had been expanded to include a table and a comfortable chair by the fire and a bookcase filled with thick leather-bound volumes. The books were those she had taken from the Restricted Section but had not gotten to read thanks to Remus’ sudden appearance. On the table was her bag, which had been left in the classroom after Remus turned primal and Sirius came to her aid.

There was no way Sirius had come into the room while she was in the washroom. Even if she was wrong, he would not have known which books she wanted. Remus knew her books, but was in no condition to bring them to her. That left only Dumbledore. The Headmaster knew what books she had wanted and where she was hiding. Dumbledore knew everything.

She was grateful. She had not been looking forward to being locked in the Room of Requirement for over thirty hours with nothing to do but twiddle her thumbs. The undisturbed time, she knew, would be perfect to continue her studies. The Headmaster apparently thought so, too.

Not wanting to disappoint the great wizard, because he undoubtedly knew whether she was reading the books he had given her, she pulled a book from the case and dropped into the comfortable chair, which, she happily discovered, was identical to those in front of the Gryffindor fire. She retrieved her notes, ink and quill from the bag and read until the lights in the room dimmed. She slept until the room brightened and a plate of breakfast appeared on the table by the fire. The warm and delicious smells pulled her into consciousness. She ate her fill before pushing the plate away; it vanished and was replaced by her notes. She read through the day until lunch, and again until dinner. She read through the sun setting and the rising of the final full moon of the year. She read until every book on the shelf had yielded its secrets.

The parchment now contained the condensed data from over three hundred and eighty-four years of trials and experiments by forty-seven witches and wizards. On the three feet of parchment she had circled the spells and potions necessary to crystallise time, capture it and turn it into a useable object.

Now her real work could begin.

Tuesday morning, Hermione woke with the dawn, collected her bag and left the Room of Requirement. She stood back and waited for the door to fade. With her needs firmly in her mind, she paced back and forth until the door appeared again.

Each time the door appeared it looked the same. The Muggle logic that she had formed in childhood said that if the door was the same, the room would be also. But Muggle logic was useless in this castle. She placed a nervous hand on the door handle and turned it. Behind the door was the room she required. The bed had been reduced in size and sent to the far corner of the room, two long tables had taken the bed’s prominent place in the room. One of the tables held a large case which she hoped would be filled with potions supplies. A solid bronze cauldron, as required by Morgan Hornbuckle’s recounting of her experiment, sat on a stand above a fire. It was just what she needed. She closed the door and took out her notes.

Classes would begin in eight days. Eight days to experiments without being disturbed. Eight days to work without fear of accidentally blowing up a quarter of the student body. Eight days to remain locked in the Room of Requirement without having to face Remus or Sirius, Peter or James. Eight days to try to fix the mess she had made for herself.

Eight days.         

oOo

The staircases were being difficult on purpose, Remus was sure of it.

He had been standing on the stairs for an hour waiting for it to take him to the proper landing, but it insisted on traveling to every landing except the one he wanted. He would have thought nothing of it, if this wasn’t the third staircase in a row to pull such a stunt on him. He finally gave up on the supposedly quicker route and took the very long path up to the highest level on the north side, across to the central staircase, down to the fourth floor to the secret passage behind the tapestry of Catherine the Contrary poking trolls in the eye just because she could, which led to the sixth floor via a wrought iron spiral staircase hidden in the walls, then up the last set of normal, non-moving stairs to the seventh floor. It took him an hour-and-a-half and when he arrived, out of breath and in a rather foul mood, he found James and Sirius standing scratching their heads.

“Where have you been?” James asked. “You were supposed to meet us three hours ago.”

“The stairs weren’t cooperating,” Remus grumbled.

“Worked fine for us,” Sirius shrugged.

“So where’s the door?” Remus pointed.

“It won’t appear,” Sirius said, his face drawn up in concentration. “I know I told it to make a room where she would be safe from a werewolf. But when I try it, the door won’t come.”

“Try asking for a room where you can find Mione,” James said.

They stood back while Remus paced, thinking about a room in which he could find Mione Garnier. Nothing happened. “Well that’s odd,” Sirius scratched his chin. “Even if she isn’t in it, the room should have appeared and shown a copy of where she is like that one time when you asked it to show you where Evans was hiding from you during fifth year.”

“She wasn’t hiding, she was playing hard to get,” James insisted.

“Denial,” Sirius muttered and got a kick in the ass for his commentary.

“Can you Floo into the Room of Requirement?” James wondered.

“Only one way to find out…” Sirius said.

James shoved him aside and sprinted for the stairs. Sirius recovered his footing and chased after him with a string of obscenities. Remus just shook his head, so used to the on-going completion between the two it barely even registered anymore. He looked at the blank stone wall where the door ought to be. Mione and the door were far too similar. She had not appeared. He sat at her table in the library for hours Monday, until Sirius literally dragged him to the Shrieking Shack. He waited for her at breakfast that morning, but she didn’t come down. Now even the door was hiding from him. He really had behaved abysmally.

Still, he thought, even if she avoids me all week, we have to sit together in class.

“Damn,” he muttered. “I’m getting as bad as James.”

“Moony!” Sirius shouted from down the corridor. “Move your ass!”

Hermione looked up from the cauldron. She heard shouting out in the corridor. Tempting as it was to see who was outside, she needed to concentrate. The potions require sixty consecutive clockwise stirs, each lasting exactly two seconds with an interval of exactly three seconds between the end of the previous stir and the beginning of the next. It was the most difficult potion she had ever attempted. She had spent three hours just preparing the ingredients. Morgan Hornbuckle’s directions were very exact, as she was the only experimenter to live to tell her own results. The witch had successfully crystallised one minutes of time using this potion and the spell invented by Senor Barbabien; she speculated that she would have been able to crystallise more had the cauldron not exploded, blinding her and damaging her hands beyond use. The end result of Madam Hornbuckle’s experiment was the reason Hermione wore the thickest dragon hide gloves she could summon and stood behind a protective barrier.

She counted her sixtieth stir and pulled the stir rod vertically from the cauldron, rotating it in her hands to prevent any drops from falling back into the pot and disturbing the surface tension of the brew. The potion needed to sit undisturbed at a low heat with a smooth surface for nine hours or until it turned golden brown with a putrid smell, whichever came first.

She noted the time on wall clock and set herself to the task of creating a temporal bubble. According to Cecil Lilliford, a 19th century wizard, the temporal bubble could be created using a charm of his own invention on a common glass jar. She conjured a jar and began practicing.

The first attempt did nothing. The second, third and fourth resulted in broken jars. On the fifth attempt, her aim was off and she ended up with a jar that looked as if it had been buried in the desert for a millennia; the glass was cloudy from age, though it was brand new. While this was not the result she had wanted, it showed her that the charm was effective in altering time on a small scale. If she could just perfect her wand work, the jar would work to capture the crystallised time in the exact state in which it was created.

According to all the book she had read, if the grains of time were exposed to the air for more than one minute they would turn into regular sand, but trapped in a jar charmed to freeze time, they would remain potent minutes of time granulated into physical form.

“Fascinating!” Hermione beamed and continued her charming.


	24. A Dangerous Creature

James won. He reached the Gryffindor fireplace first by five seconds. Sirius threw himself into an overstuffed chair and waited for Remus to arrive. He was still tired from the full moon; they all knew he should be resting, but Sirius kept encouraging him to find Mione. James didn’t see the point since she would be around for the rest of the holiday and in classes the following week, but Sirius was quite insistent.

“Moony, you’re too slow, mate,” Sirius scolded when he finally made his way through the portrait hole.

“Been a long weekend,” he huffed and landed in the other chair.

“Got the Floo powder!” James announced as he came in from the boys’ dorms. “Who should have the honours?”

“Moony?” Sirius gestured.

“You go ahead, I’ll rest here a minute,” he waved his friend forward.

“If you insist,” he said. “But as you recall, I was the ‘fucking hero’ last time we met. She might be so overjoyed to see me that she completely forgets about you. You were quite a scoundrel, Moony.”

“Moony? A scoundrel?” James leaned in. “Do tell, Mr Padfoot. What has Mr Moony been doing with himself?”

“It isn’t so much what he’s been doing with himself, Mr Prongs, but what he’s been doing with the lovely Miss Garnier,” Sirius raised his eyebrow suggestively.

“Then perhaps you should go first, Mr Padfoot,” James said solemnly.

“Oh, fuck off the pair of you,” Remus snatched the jar of powder from James and threw a fistful into the fire. “Room of Requirement.” The flames flashed and burned green. Remus stepped in and disappeared.

“Shall we follow?” James asked.

“I think some privacy is in order at the moment,” Sirius shook his head and leaned back in the comfortable chair.

“Quite right,” he sat down in Remus’s chair. After a moment he glanced around, “Should we visit Wormtail in hospital?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Hope Remus can bring Mione round,” James said as they left the common room.

Remus might have had a chance, if he had landed where he intended, but the fireplace he arrived in was not situated in the Room of Requirement, not unless Mione had decided to alter the room to resemble the Headmaster’s office. Remus recognised the bird, a Phoenix, and the machines whirling and gyrating without anyone to set them into motion. In all his studies, he had yet to come across a single one of those machines listed in a book, which left him to assume that they had all been invented by Albus Dumbledore.

“Ah, Mr Lupin,” Dumbledore said and gestured him forward. “Do come in before the flames turn back again.”

Remus stepped from the fire place and dusted himself off.

“Professor, I’m sorry, I meant to go somewhere else.”

“Yes, I know. I redirected you,” Dumbledore informed him with a reassuring smile.

“Why?” Remus asked, too tired and confused to remember his manners.

“Because Miss Garnier is very busy and I do not want her disturbed.”

He remembered that Dumbledore knew her secret. The man had told Snape as much. “She’s gone past researching, Professor?”

“Yes, my boy, she started just this morning,” he said, clearly not in the least surprised that Remus knew what she had planned. He gestured for Remus to sit. “Jelly Baby?”

“No, thank you. She is determined to go, then?”

“Yes, and rightly so. She is far too dangerous a creature to remain among us.”

“ _She_ is dangerous?” That was news to him. So far Mione had insisted on ‘it’ being dangerous for her to stay. Never once had she said that she was the one making it a danger. They were even better suited than he thought.

“Yes, Remus, she is more dangerous even than you.” His eyes twinkled at the tired and thin boy. Imagining him a danger to anyone looking as he did was laughable, and Remus knew it.

“How long will it take, do you think, Professor?”

“Having never attempted it myself, I can only guess. But my guesses are quite good, if I do say so myself,” Dumbledore smiled. “Given her progress, I would say Miss Garnier will be leaving us well before exams.”

“And I can’t talk her out of leaving?”

“I must insist you not attempt it. If she was swayed by you, everything we know would be at risk,” he spoke as quietly as he ever did, but Remus could hear the urgency in his voice. “She cannot stay.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Ah, to feel the sting of lost love,” Dumbledore sighed wistfully, his twinkling eyes looking skyward as he remembered his own lost loves.

Remus said nothing. He had not been excused and didn’t think it right to leave without permission. He cleared his throat.

The Headmaster blinked and turned his misty eyes to him. “There was something that concerned me, Remus.”

“Professor?”

“Her blood. _He_ tasted it and you said nothing to warn us. You and he have both been rather a handful these past two full moons, and I’m guessing the blood has much to do with it,” Dumbledore looked over his glasses as him.

Remus shifted uncomfortably in the chair. The Headmaster knew he had been less than gentlemanly toward Mione, a girl he now understood to be very important to the great wizard. He hoped Dumbledore didn’t know the exact details of his behaviour. If he did Remus would likely be expelled or worse.

“We are going to have to be especially vigilant during the future full moons to keep him under control,” Dumbledore said.

“Yes, Professor.”

“Now, I must ask you respect Miss Garnier’s wishes.”

“Her wishes, Professor?” Remus asked. He didn’t recall her making any requests of him, but she might have given them to the Headmaster.

“If she wishes to speak to you, by all means respond. If she wishes to be left alone, please do not force contact upon her,” he explained kindly. “It is her decision, Remus, remember that.”

“I will, Professor.”

“Excellent. Your friends are visiting, Mr Pettigrew. I would recommend joining them.”

“Yes, Professor.”

He stood and left through the door. As he closed it, he glanced back and saw Dumbledore looking skyward again. The Headmaster was well into his eighties; Remus wondered how many loves the man had lost in his day that he could look back so much later with such bliss on his face. If Remus lost Mione, as was becoming more likely every day, he didn’t think he would be able to breathe. Looking fondly skyward was completely out of the question.

Remus entered the hospital wing and saw Peter asleep on a bed. James was lying on the bed beside his, his glasses on the table and a sleepy look overtaking his features.

“Save yourself,” Sirius called to him drowsily.

Madam Pomfrey pulled the curtain aside. “Remus Lupin! What are you doing out of bed? After all The Werewolf does to you, you ought to be asleep. Take this!” She shoved a spoon into his mouth before he could respond or protest. The Dreamless Sleep began taking effect almost immediately. He slumped, boneless, into the woman’s waiting arms. The nurse set him down on a bed, removed his shoes with a wave of her wand and covered him with a thick blanket. He was asleep before she was back in her office.

He was trying to fight the potion, to stay awake. There was too much to think about. He had to wake up. Her voice was calling to him, soft and pained, and he wanted to comfort her.

“—wearing gloves!” Madam Pomfrey fretted.

“I was,” Mione insisted. “The thickest I could summon in the Room of Requirement.”

“Clearly they weren’t thick enough,” she clicked her tongue as she applied salve liberally to the girl’s hand and bandaged it. “I’ll speak to Albus about getting you a better pair of gloves.”

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey,” Mione glanced at Sirius and James. “Are they all right? The werewolf?”

“Just exhaustion, don’t you fret.”

“Even Remus?”

“Oh, he’s…”

What he was, he didn’t know. He drifted off again knowing Mione cared about his charming friends and about him.


	25. Tough Lover

“She’s in the Room of Requirement,” Remus said in a low voice at dinner that night. The Great Hall had been returned to its usual configuration, though with much Yule spirit and pine scent. Still, with so few bodies to deaden the echo, their voices could easily carry, and Remus did not want Snivellus Snape or the Headmaster overhearing.

“We tried there already,” James said through a mouthful of chicken.

“Close your mouth when you eat!” Sirius slapped him in the back of the head for being so disgusting. “He’s right, though. I tried every variation I could think of.”

“So just one, then?” James commented.

“I heard her say it to Madam Pomfrey. She’s in the Room,” Remus insisted.

“What do you plan to do about it?” Sirius asked.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” James tossed a carrot at the werewolf’s head.

“I promised Dumbledore I’d respect her wishes. Unless she talks to me first, I have to leave her alone,” Remus said, then leaned in and whispered. “But he didn’t say anything about you. You two can talk to her all you like.”

“Should’ve been in Slytherin, I’m telling you,” Sirius muttered to James.

“That plan only works if we can get in,” James said, choosing to ignore Sirius. “You got sent to Dumbledore when you Flooed in, and we can’t even make the door show up.”

“We’ll have to wait until classes start. She’ll probably ignore Moony on Dumbledore’s order, but I bet he didn’t say anything about to her about us either.”

“So sneaky,” Remus smiled.

“This is assuming she doesn’t finish before classes start,” James added pessimistically.

“She won’t. We read those books, too,” Remus reminded them. “The potion alone took two months to mature…when it doesn’t explode during the brewing phase.”

“So we have two months at least. Cake walk!” Sirius declared.

“What will you be doing while we’re chatting with your girl?” James asked, suddenly suspicious this was all a ploy for Remus to get out of doing the hard work.

“He’ll be sitting around looking pathetic,” Sirius answered.

“Oh, so the usual.”

“Fuck off,” Remus muttered, but couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Only true friends would be willing to lampoon him so mercilessly after he had been dumped during the full moon.

oOo

The Room of Requirements was unbearable. It was part cabin fever; she had only left to receive medical treatment when her first attempt at the potion exploded. Mainly, it was the smell.

With her hand healed and protected by the thickest gloves Dumbledore could find in the whole of wizarding Europe, she had started the potion again. It was a success. No explosions. The cauldron had been sitting on low heat for eight hours and thirty-seven minutes before the noxious smells started drifting off the brew. It was the worst combination of rotten eggs, boiled sprouts and unwashed feet she had ever had the misfortune to smell. Hermione could actually see the pungent clouds spilling over the edge and falling to the floor.

She held her nose to check the colour–golden brown–and took the cauldron off the fire, dunking it into an ice bath.

“Two months,” Mione said to herself.

Two months. That was how long she had to wait before the potion would be mature enough for her purposes. If she rushed and tried too soon, she would have to start again from scratch. She set the caldron down onto the table and conjured a calendar beside it. It was the second of January. From the second of January to the second of March would be fifty-nine days. She marked the calendar and spell-o-taped it to the wall.

Two Months. In that time, she was certain she would master the charm to make a temporal bubble and the spell to grow crystals of time from her potion.

“Two months,” she repeated looking at the calendar. “And two days until terms starts.” She had been dreading the start of classes. It was easy to promise Dumbledore she would distance herself from Remus, but quite another thing to do it when they were in so many classes together. This all started because they sat together so often; he was the easiest to approach of James’s friends. She had a plan, though. It would be harsh, but effective, she was sure.

Two days before she put it into effect.

One day.

The fourth of January came far too quickly. Mione spent the night back in the Hufflepuff dormitory. The painting guarding the entrance had been repaired and the portrait had been reassured that nothing would happen to his canvas again. She remembered that after Sirius attacked the Fat Lady, she returned under armed guard. The keeper of the House of Courage needed protecting, while that of the House of Loyalty came back with none. There was something askew there.

Edlyn, Una and Pamela spent the whole night talking, telling Mione all about their holiday and families and friends and presents. The presents alone took four hours to show off; Una’s winter robe collection cost a small fortune, but she insisted they all try the items on. Mione was silent, insisting she spent the holiday reading in the library and in the comfortable chairs by the fire.

“I heard Remus Lupin wasn’t on the train to London,” Una smirked. “You didn’t see him here over break?”

“No, if he was here, he must have been in the hospital wing because of his illness,” Mione lied convincingly.

“Told you,” Pamela said.

“We were hoping for some good gossip,” Edlyn whined.

“You will have to look elsewhere, I’m afraid,” Mione insisted.

That night she took a half-measure of Dreamless Sleep.

In the solitary Room of Requirement, Hermione had found Remus haunting her dreams. Every night she dreamed he had her pressed hard against a wall with his clever fingers sliding up her thigh, his talented lips on her throat and mouth. She moaned so loudly, she woke herself up twice in one night. She could not have that happening in the crowded and gossipy sixth year dormitory. Perhaps having the company of other students would help dilute the potency of her memories.

She went with the girls to breakfast, sitting with her back to the Gryffindor table. They didn’t notice the change in seating arrangements, they were so caught up in talking. Remus noticed, and he did not like it. What if she brushed him off through the whole DADA class? He didn’t think he could stand having her so close to him without being able to talk to her, flirt with her.

He needn’t have worried.

When he entered Professor Morven’s class, Mione had not yet arrived. He sat on his preferred side of the table and waited for her to sit beside him. Morven came to the lectern, the door slammed shut and he started his lecture. Mione still wasn’t there. He copied the notes in his best writing, assuming she would need them later.

“Where do you think she was?” James asked as they left.

“No idea,” Sirius shrugged.

She was sitting at lunch when they arrived, her back to their table again. Her friends glanced their way and giggled, but Mione kept her head turned away. Remus paled as it finally dawned on him that she really did intend to stop speaking to him. His stomach twisted and he felt sick. He didn’t eat anything at lunch. Dinner was no better, nor breakfast the next day. Every time he looked over and saw her turned away from him, he found his stomach incapable of holding food.

In Charms, Mione sat in her usual seat beside Lily Evans. Sirius tried convincing him to sit next to her, but he knew she would ignore him and couldn’t bear the thought of it. He grew more concerned as he watched the play between the pair of girls. Lily and Mione had developed a pleasant in-class, small talk relationship, but today Mione acted like she had early in the year; she answered questions with the briefest possible answers and made no inquiries of her own. Lily was confused, but did not press the matter. More worrying was that she responded to James and Sirius in much the same way. She had been their friend and now she barely spoke to them. He lost his appetite before he even left class.

Friday, Peter transformed into his Animagus rodent and followed Mione to Double Potions. At lunch, he told them how Snape had tried goading her, but she simply asked him for the porcupine quills. The Slytherin had tried every snide comment or insult that crossed his twisted mind, but nothing stirred Mione to speak to him. Even his insults of Remus had no effect.

Remus pushed his plate away, his pasty untouched.

“You’re going to have to eat something, Moony,” Sirius told him.

“Later, I’m not hungry,” Remus mumbled.

The young werewolf was not wearing his anxiety well. He grew thinner from his lost appetite, paler than he did following his worst transformations. His friends worried what the full moon would do on top of his already waning health.

The boy waited in the library for her most weekends. Knowing that her research was complete, he did not really expect to see her, but he still hoped. The library was where she spent most of her time along with him; if they had a place to call theirs, it was that one table. He never saw Mione. Instead he saw the suspicion-filled glares from Madam Pince. He suffered through the long hours of her hard looks, leaving only when one of his friends came to collect him.

“Let’s head to the kitchens and see if the house-elves will whip up something you like,” Peter suggested, one Sunday.

“Not hungry.”

“Well, the kitchen is right across the way from the Hufflepuff dorms…”

“No point,” Remus said and walked, hands deep in his pockets, to Gryffindor Tower, where he landed in his bed and fell asleep.

Sleep, Remus found, was the only place that life was as he wished. In his dreams, the full moon was something beautiful about which he could write poetry. In his dreams, Mione snuggled up beside him and listened to him read an impossibly complicated textbook on Transfiguration. In his dreams, she touched him, talked to him, looked at him. He enjoyed his dreams, and was spending a worrying amount of time with them.

oOo

“Remus looks horrible,” Una whispered.

“Mione, look,” Edlyn insisted, her voice heavy with concern.

The full moon was rising that night, and Mione knew what it did to him. Still, she had not laid eyes on him since the December full moon, and she had no intention of looking now. As she turned around, she closed her eyes, not wanting to see. When she turned back, she had a fittingly worried expression on her face. “Oh dear.”

“I know. I hope his illness isn’t getting worse,” Una fretted.

“You should go find out,” Edlyn nudged her.

“No, if he wanted me to know, he would say something,” Mione shook her head.

The girls continued to worry and speculate, but did not bother pressing her again to inquire. They caught the hint. She wasn’t speaking to Remus. By their silent calculations, the pair had not spoken since classes had started in January. Something had to have happened over the winter holidays. They didn’t know what, but they would find out.

“Um…S-Sirius?” Una squeaked. It had taken her a week and Edlyn shoving her into his path to give her the courage to approach him.

He turned, eyebrow arched in a way that made her stomach feel as if it were filled with wriggling flobberworms. “Una, isn’t it?”

“You remember,” she started hyperventilating.

“Una!” Edlyn hissed. “Pull yourself together!”

“Right…Right! I wanted to ask how Remus is,” Una said, a little breathlessly. “He looks kind of sick.”

She expected him to laugh at her, but his eyebrow fell and he looked solemn. “He’s not good.”

“What’s the matter with him?”

“Ask Mione,” Sirius said darkly.

“We tried,” Edlyn came out from her hiding place behind the suit of armour. “She won’t say anything.”

“Big surprise,” he snorted. He stopped a moment and then looked at them in a way Edlyn found disconcerting but made Una brim with excitement. “Do you think you could make her late to Charms tomorrow?”

“Absolutely!” Una agreed without pause.

“Why?” Edlyn asked, concerned.

“There’s something she needs to see,” he said. “Make sure she’s late.”

Una sighed contentedly as he left. He knew her name. He trusted her to help him.

Edlyn, who thought James was cuter, was more troubled by how bitter he sounded toward their friend. Remus was ill, Mione wasn’t speaking to him and Sirius blamed her. She broke Remus’s heart; it was the only explanation. So what did Sirius want her to see?

“How are we going to make her late?” Una asked, suddenly worried that she wouldn’t be able to pull it off.

“We’ll find a way,” Edlyn assured her.


	26. The Thin Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author pushes the the boundary of believable weight loss.

The way presented itself that night.

Mione’s bag sat on a table in their shared bedroom, packed for the next morning’s class with her notes and completed Charms homework, a fresh bottle of ink sitting upright beside it.

Una bit her lip as she considered the consequences of what she was about to do. Her friend would lose all her Charms notes, but the girls would provide her with theirs. She could potentially get a zero on her assignment. One zero would not destroy her grades, which were better than most Hufflepuff’s, though nowhere near Hermione’s old standards. If Flitwick accepted the explanation that they were at fault, Mione would get an extension anyway. Assured that the damage would be minimal, Una loosened the stopper on the bottle then bumped hard into the table after Mione was sleeping dreamlessly.

The Hufflepuff dorm woke to the high pitched wail the next morning. “Non!”

“What?” Edlyn shot up in bed and yanked the yellow curtain aside expecting to see a dead body on the floor. Instead she saw Mione tearing at her bag, pulling out roll after roll of blackened parchment.

“My bag! What happened?” Mione shrieked.

“What?” Una looked with sleep-encrusted eyes. She saw that the hard bump she had given the table had worked; the ink bottle had toppled and soaked the girl’s bag, parchment and notes. She pushed the grin away and said with believable guilt, “Oh, no! I bumped into the table last night. I’m so sorry!”

Mione pulled out her wand and tried every cleaning or repair spell that she could think of. Eighteen spells later, her bag was still stained black. Nothing worked. The ink had dried hours ago. The only spells that would remove the stains would also pull the ink off her homework, notes and textbook. She fell onto her bed and stared at the mess.

“Don’t worry, Mione. I’ll tell Professor Flitwick it was my fault. I’m sure he’ll give you and extension,” Una assured her, rubbing her back comfortingly while she bit back a smile. Sirius would be so pleased.

“Oui,” she said sadly.

“Oh! We’re late!” Edlyn cried.

They rushed to collect their things for class. Mione had to find spare parchment, ink and quills, which was made difficult since nearly all the Hufflepuffs had left for breakfast. It took twenty minutes of panicked scavenging to find what she needed. They ran to the Great Hall. The doors were swung wide, but the only students there were studying not eating. Breakfast was over.

It was no use; they would have to run to Charms without breakfast. Una whined as they hurried, a stitch in her side and stomach growling with hunger. Yes, this had been her plan and her fault, but she had hoped to get some food after making Mione late.  Her only consolation was knowing that she had done as Sirius asked. He would be in her debt, especially if it worked out according to his plan.

As they rounded the corner to Charms, the girls froze. A long, thin figure was leaning heavily on a pillar just outside the classroom. It seemed posed, at first, like someone attempting to imitate the way Sirius often leaned on walls and furniture looking effortlessly cool, but as they drew slowly closer it was obvious the figure needed all the support he could get. Remus Lupin rested his entire diminished body weight on the stone, arms hanging by his sides, head tilted up, his eyes closed. The full moon had taken from him what little strength he had left. He looked asleep.

It was the first time Mione had seen him since December and it was not what she had expected.

His clothes were hanging off him as if they were borrowed from someone three sizes larger. His face was paler and thinner than she had ever seen him. Deep shadows under his eyes made them look sunken in. He had the appearance of a skeleton wrapped loosely in skin, like the walking dead.

“Remus…” Una said. “Dear gods, what’s the matter?”

“Oh…the usual,” he replied. He sounded tired, though all he did anymore was sleep.

Mione bit down on her lip, turned and ran before he opened his eyes. She could not have him see her looking so worried. She found her path blocked by an impenetrable wall of Marauders. James was flanked on either side by Sirius and Peter; it looked an absurd mockery of Draco and his goons, but she didn’t find it at all funny.

“Move,” she insisted, unable to keep her voice from quavering.

“What’s the matter, Mione? Don’t like your handiwork?” James cocked an eyebrow at her.

She hated how much he looked like Harry. It made her feel as if it was him looking back angrily at her, not his father. She was the one who was supposed to keep The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, grounded, not the other way around.

She knew what she was doing was harsh, but it had to be done. Remus would get over it.

“Move,” she demanded with more force.

“No,” Sirius growled. “You need to wake up to what you’re doing.”

“I am awake and aware,” she spit the words. “Now move.”

They were looking at her with disgust, like she was beneath them. Even Peter was looking down on her. That was the final insult, that traitor’s self-righteous glare. She pulled out her wand and petrified him. He teetered worryingly for a half-second before falling sideways into James, knocking him into Sirius. She ran past while they shouted and untangled themselves from one another.

“It didn’t work?” Una asked, disappointed. She and Edlyn were carrying Remus, which was worryingly easy; he weighed almost nothing.

“No, I think that did the trick,” Sirius said and took the nearly-dead weight off the girls.

“Will she come around?” Edlyn wondered.

“Doesn’t matter…” Remus muttered.

“Shut up, Moony,” Sirius instructed.

Edlyn was shocked that he would speak so harshly to his sick friend. Remus didn’t object and neither did James. She knew they shoved and taunted one another mercilessly, but didn’t think it was right to do it when Remus was so ill. She opened her mouth to speak, but Sirius was talking.

“Thank you,” he said to Una. “You were great.”

“Oh,” she gasped. “Any time.”

“Edlyn?” James looked at her. It was her turn to descend into fits of sighs and giggles. “Do me a favour?”

“Anything.”

“Tell Flitwick we’re taking Remus to hospital wing, and let me borrow your notes later?”

“Of course,” she sighed. Later. She and James would sit together later. She ran to the classroom and made a point of taking the most detailed and lengthy notes she could to extend the time she had next to the Gryffindor Chaser.

James levitated Peter and floated him through the castle to Madam Pomfrey while Sirius carried the feather-light Remus.

“She’s got no choice but to notice you now, Moony,” he assured his cargo.

“Doesn’t matter…”

oOo

Hermione locked herself in the putrid Room of Requirement and warded the door as if the magical barrier would keep out the images in her head and the doubts that came with them. Remus was emaciated beyond anything a single full moon could have done. She had only seen people look so withered in photographs of children living in war zones, where there was no food and the only clean water was five miles’ walk away. Just a month ago he had been thin, but healthy and strong; strong enough to physically lift her around a classroom, and now he had wasted away to the extent that the diminutive Hufflepuff girls could carry him.

It was more than just worrying, it was sickening. No wonder they were looking at her with such distain. She had treated their friend horribly, worse than she had even thought. She had behaved unforgivably. It would have been far more humane to kill him outright.

She had convinced herself that Remus would get over it and move on to become the adult she knew later, but if he declined any further, he would die before graduation. She hid beneath one of the tables, knees hugged tightly to her chest. She wanted Harry or Ginny or Ron to be there, even Luna Lovegood would have been welcome. Hermione was good at books and cleverness and riddles and research; they were brilliant with people and problems and emotions. Together they could solve anything, but she was alone.

She couldn’t even turn to the Headmaster for advice.

Dumbledore had given her orders, but they were killing her friend. Considering what was at stake, he might even say such a sacrifice was worth it.

She disagreed.

She needed a new plan. After several hours and two missed meals, she thought she had found it. 


	27. On Silent Wings

Gryffindor vs. Slytherin.

It was the big match, the one everyone had been waiting for. Each team stood on equal footing when the rivals met. Slytherin had thrashed Hufflepuff in the November game, and Gryffindor Ravenclaw in January. The outcome of this game would determine who won the Quidditch Cup, even though each team still had one more game to play. 

Classes were cancelled Friday afternoon, and students talked of nothing else during breakfast. Even Potions that morning was an exercise in Quidditch preparation, as Slughorn described the methods by which a potioneer brews as a game of Quidditch, with the ingredients as the players. It was quite ridiculous as both Severus and Mione agreed.

Lunch was raucous. Students burst into the Hogwarts song, while others ran from the Gryffindor table to the Slytherin asking what their strategy was going to be and looking for a hint of which team was better prepared mentally to win. It was common knowledge that the Gryffindor’s best Chaser was handicapped thanks to his preoccupation with his friend’s declining health. Remus was at lunch, but again he was not touching the food. Madam Pomfrey had force-fed him a thick broth the previous day, which had fractionally improved his condition, but he still looked as if he had one foot in the grave.

He was so weak, the wind from the post owl’s wings nearly knocked him over as it swooped down to deliver a letter to him. His clever fingers were so frail, Peter had to open the letter for him. He took the opened letter and read it, his brows folding together in confusion.

“Is this a joke?” he looked at Sirius.

“What?” He took the letter and read it.  “Please bring the Marauder’s Map to the Room of Requirements on the seventh floor after lunch. I will explain everything. Mione?”

Remus, convinced by his friend’s consternation that it was not a prank, looked to the Hufflepuff table. In the chaos of gold, silver, scarlet and green, he could see Beauxbatons blue. Mione was sitting in her old seat, facing their table and him. She was pale and looked worried.

“Told you she couldn’t ignore you anymore,” Sirius grinned.

“How does she know about the map?” James asked, worried that their secret was out. “No one knows about it.”

“Well, we’ll find out when we bring it to her,” Sirius said, glaring at the girl. He wasn’t particularly fond of Mione after a month of watching his friend wither. If she intended to mend things with Remus and he got well again, Sirius thought he could tolerate her. He wondered if it would be him wasting away to a skeleton if Remus hadn’t fallen for her first.

Remus looked up at him, confused. “We’re going?” Remus asked.

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“I thought you’d try to talk me out of it,” he said with a slow shrug that took all his effort.

“You are clearly in no condition to be argued with,” Sirius said, and patted his hand like an elderly invalid. “You poor dear.”

Remus turned his skeletal hand in a rude gesture. “Fuck off.”

Sirius stood and gestured victory. “That is the Remus I’ve been missing! Oh, say it again.”

“Fuck off.” A smiled pulled at his dry lips.

“Potter,” Barnes McDorrin, the worst Chaser of their team, shouted across the table. “Team meeting in five minutes!”

“Yes, Captain,” James gave him a salute. 

“Git,” McDorrin muttered and rolled his eyes. He had no idea how Potter managed to be named Caption when all his did was goof off.

James hopped up from the bench. “I guess you’ll have to fill me in on how that vixen knows about our map.”

“Will do,” Sirius promised. “Even if it takes all afternoon for her to tell us.”

“Oh, but,” Peter interrupted. “We’ll miss the game…”

“You go watch the game, Wormtail. I’m dying to know what’s so damn important she was willing to make Moony suffer this much.”

When put that way, Peter had a hard time leaving with the rest of the Gryffindor table. He wanted to know about Mione, sure, but this was Quidditch. This was their chance to see the Slytherins beaten and humiliated. How would he miss that? He muttered an apology to Remus and ran after the crowd of cheering Gryffindors.

“Shall we go collect our map?” Sirius asked.

“Don’t have to,” Remus said. “I have it.”

“You have it on you? Why would you–? Wait, never mind; I think I know. You’ve been map stalking her, haven’t you?”

Remus hung his head, part shame, part inability to hold it up. “I tried, but I couldn’t find her.”

“What?”

“She’s never on the map,” Remus said. “I think she might have found a way to block herself off from it.”

“I’d like to point out the fact that you are currently eating a pasty,” Sirius said in an abrupt change to the conversation. “Are you sure you can handle that?”

“Fuck off.”

Sirius smirked. If he knew one letter would be enough to bring his friend back, he would have forged the girl’s writing weeks ago. He glanced over his shoulder at the Hufflepuff table. Mione was standing, looking their way, hands fidgeting at her sides like she was trying hard not to gesture to them. He watched her leave the Great Hall and turn away from the Hufflepuff dorms, toward the corridor that would eventually lead to the seventh floor and the Room of Requirement. Seeing her go, Sirius knew it was officially not a hoax.

“Your lady awaits.” Sirius grabbed the last of the pasties before they vanished back down into the kitchen, tucking them into his bag. He suspected his friend would be ravenous well before dinner.

Remus shoved the rest of the pasty into his mouth, chewed only enough so he wouldn’t choke and swallowed it down. A goblet of water helped it on its way.

“You’ve been spending too much time with James, mate,” Sirius cringed. “That was disgusting.”

Remus gave him a rude gesture before he stood. His stomach ached from the heavy lunch, but his heart was practically whole again; the one pain was preferable to the other, in his opinion. He wobbled to the end of the table, where Sirius waited to act as his crutch. They limped up the stairs and down the corridors until they found the blank wall on the seventh floor.

Mione was there, waiting, wringing her hands and picking at her nails in worry. One cuticle was bleeding from her nervous attention, but she hadn’t noticed.

“Garnier,” Sirius said rudely.

She turned and gasped to see Remus being supported so blatantly. The words she had planned to say seemed suddenly so stupid, she wanted to apologise, to explain, to demand he go see Madam Pomfrey immediately, to yell at Sirius for not insisting he remain locked in hospital until he looked properly well again. But she said nothing.

Sirius saw the emotions dancing across her face and felt no sympathy for her. He ignored the tears building in her eyes and kept his tone harsh. “How do you know about the map?”

“What?” She blinked the tears away.

“The Marauder’s Map, our map,” Sirius clarified. “How do you know about it?”

“I…Well, that’s part of the explanation,” she said in a very small voice.

“So start explaining.”

“I was hoping to speak only to Remus about it…”

“Too bad,” Sirius snarled. She had not lived through the last full moon with Remus already weak and defeated. She wasn’t worthy of any privileges.

“Please, I’m already breaking Dumbledore’s rules by telling Remus,” she pleaded.

“Then breaking them a little more won’t kill you, will it?”

“Sirius,” Remus said, his voice stronger than the rest of him. “Leave her alone.”

“You can’t even stand, Moony,” Sirius reminded him.

“Go away, Padfoot.” Remus removed his arm from around his friend’s shoulder and managed to hold himself upright. Sirius eyed him, deciding if he could really handle whatever it was Mione had in store for him. “Now.”

“Fine, but I’m not going far.”

“Hadn’t expected you to,” Remus practically smirked.

Sirius grumbled and swore under his breath as he walked down the corridor and out of earshot. When he was a very small figure in the distance, Remus took the Marauder’s Map from his bag and held it out for her.

“No, you do it,” she insisted. “I want you to do it all yourself so you can’t accuse me of bewitching it.”

“I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good,” Remus said and touched his wand to the map. The ink ran across the surface to fill the split face with their title page.

“Open it,” she said. “Find the seventh floor.”

“I’m looking for us?”

“Yes.”

He leaned against the wall for support before he did as she instructed. The map opened, fold inside hidden fold, and he found the seventh floor. He saw the tiny feet of Sirius pacing and, further down the ink corridor, he saw a scroll with his name. Beside it was a third scroll bearing the name ‘Hermione Granger’.

Remus looked at her, confused and said, “You aren’t here.”

“Yes, I am,” she pointed to her name on the scroll. “Hermione Granger.”

“You fucked with our map to make it lie. Great trick,” he snapped. “You brought me all the way up here to pull this shitty joke on me? “

Her eyes didn’t look away from him as he hissed his anger at her. She deserved much worse and she knew it. When she spoke again, it was with a controlled tone. “I brought you up here for the Room of Requirement,” she said. “I need it for you to believe me.”

She backed several feet away, so that Remus was the one to which the Room would respond. “You have to be the one to summon it, or you will think I’m lying. Please, try summoning Mione Garnier’s childhood bedroom.”

He pushed himself off the wall with some difficulty and paced slowly before the wall, asking it to show him Mione Garnier’s childhood bedroom. He stood back and waited, but the door didn’t appear. He tried again, still no door. He had barely been able to stand minutes before, but anger was fuelling him now. Whatever game she way playing, he was not enjoying it.

“What the fuck are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing at anything. Please ask it to show you _Hermione Granger’s_ childhood bedroom,” she told him.

Brow knit with his ever-growing frustration, he did as she asked. This time the stone creased and folded, a carved Gothic doorframe pushing out from the wall, a solid wooden door hanging from it by wrought iron hinges.

His anger dissolved as the door took shape. “I don’t understand…”

“Mione Garnier does not exist,” she said slowly so that he would hear her every word. “Since she is not real; she did not have a childhood and so she cannot have a childhood bedroom. I am Hermione Granger. I do exist, and this is my room.”

She took his arm and supported his weight through the door. On the opposite side was a small room, its faded orchid walls hidden behind half a dozen bookcases and two small dressers. The small bed was covered in a white duvet and accessorised with one stuffed teddy bear.

Remus looked, saw and began to realise what it was she had wanted him to see. The truth. “You’re from a Muggle family?”

She nodded and picked up a framed photograph of her parents standing with her at the Science Museum in London. There was no mistaking them for wizards. “They’re dentists. They clean and fix people’s teeth.”

He ran his bony finger over her stationary figures in the picture. “You look different.”

“Ah, about that…” She stepped back and pulled out her wand, waving it in a complicated series of circles around her head while she spoke a spell he didn’t recognise. He watched her eyes shift darker. Her hair changed to a honey brown colour and sprung loose from the chignon at the base of her neck, creating a bushy and disobedient halo around her head.

“Oh, I did not miss that,” she muttered and tried to smooth it back down.

Before he could stop himself or remember that he was angry at her, his thin hands took hold of hers and pulled them away from her hair. She shrunk under his gaze. He thought for a moment  that she was afraid he would hurt her, but he saw her blush as he looked at her. She wasn’t afraid of his hands but his words. She worried what he thought of her.

“You don’t think you’re pretty,” he observed. “But you’re wrong.”

“Oh.” She blushed further and avoided his gaze, fearful that if she looked in his eyes he would try to kiss her. “But there’s more.”

“Your accent is different,” he said, pointing at her mouth. The subtle French accent, so much fainter than Fleur’s, was gone, replaced by her natural accent. “Midlands?”

“Oxfordshire,” she specified.

“Have you ever even been to France?”

“Once or twice on holiday,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve been there since 1990, though. I–”

He stopped her before she could continue. “1990?” Remus said. “As in the year 1990?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m from the future.”

 

 


	28. One Picture, One Thousand Words

28: One Picture, One Thousand Words

Remus released Mione’s hands and dropped onto the foot of the bed. He looked at her critically, as she had him at Christmas dinner. If what she said was true, if she really was from 1990 then she was trying to go forward in time, not backwards as they had thought. There was nothing so different about her that he could believe that she was from the future. No spells she could perform that he had not heard of, but then she was also fully aware of everything from the recent past. If she had come from the past, something ought to have stumped her, caused a blank stare when mentioned, but there was nothing.

He searched his memory for anything she might have said to indicate she was from further ahead in time. Even the cleverest person would slip up if distracted. He remembered only one thing:

“‘Yes, you will’,” he muttered.

“What was that?”

“Something you said once. I was wondering why Morven was so dull, said if I were the teacher I would make it more fun. You said ‘Yes, you will’. Not ‘yes, you _would_ ’ but ‘ _will_ ’.” Remus did the quick mental shuffle of the verb tense and its meaning. “I’m going to be a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?”

“The best one I’ve ever known.” She smiled down at him. “You made quite an impression on Harry, too.”

“Harry again.” Remus made a face like Harry’s name left a foul taste in his mouth. “Who is he, anyway? Your boyfriend?”

“Harry! My boyfriend?” She laughed. “Heavens, no! He’s my friend. He’s just…Harry.”

He believed her. “So who is he then? You always cheer him on when you watch James play.”

She chewed on her lip while she considered how much was too much to tell him. He seemed to be open to the idea that she was from another time, but she needed him to understand just how dangerous it was for her to be there with so much knowledge of future events. Exactly how much did he need to know to grasp that? She was not certain that knowing about Harry would help him understand. As she debated, her eyes darted to a framed photograph, one of the three of them–Harry, Ron and Hermione–from their third year.

Remus, who had been watching her slightest gesture for signs of falsehood, jumped on the motion. He was across the room with his fingers around the frame before she could protest.

The figures in the photograph moved around, trying to get themselves in the proper positions. Hermione was at the centre, younger than she was now, maybe by three years. A boy with hair redder than Evans’s was trying to stay inside of the picture but kept disappearing behind the frame. To her left was a boy with impossibly messy black hair. He smoothed it down, but it popped right back up again. His round glasses slid down his nose when Hermione nudged him and gestured to the camera.

It was James, yet it wasn’t. His nose was different and his mannerisms were all wrong. James would have been dead centre, arms flung around his friends, grinning and hogging all the attention. This boy was not that sort.

“That’s Harry,” she said.

Remus watched the boy adjust his glasses and try again to fix his hair. “He looks like James.”

“I have a better one…” she searched a shelf and found a large frame. “This was from our fourth year.”

He was supposed to be looking at the boy who wasn’t James, but he was drawn to Mione–Hermione, he corrected himself. She was dressed for a ball, hair smooth and lifted off her neck, arms bare. A hand came around and held her possessively. The older boy looked suspiciously out at him from the picture, his thick brow ridge made him appear rather stupid, a Neanderthal. Remus didn’t know who the boy was, but he didn’t like him. He turned his eyes to the other girl in the photograph, a pretty Indian girl; she was clinging to Harry’s arm and smiling widely. Harry looked extremely uncomfortable in the dress robes and with all the attention. He was looking down at his feet, clearly trying to disappear.

“He looks miserable,” Remus commented.

“It was just before the opening dance at the Yule Ball,” she said, and, seeing the confusion on Remus’s face, clarified, “Harry can’t dance.”

“Ah.” He would have been just as uncomfortable, then. He kept holding the photograph waiting for Harry to take his eyes off his feet so he could get a better look at him. Finally the boy looked up. His intense green eyes looked out at Remus, begging him to help. “Those eyes!”

Hermione nodded.

“Lily Evans—those are her eyes,” he said, shaking his head at the impossible resemblance.

From what he knew of Evans, courtesy of James’s needling and spying, she had a sister, but no cousins or anyone else that would have a child this old in 1990. Evans would have to have secretly given birth to the boy sometime in the previous year. “What year was this taken?”

He saw her eyes twinkling with delighted that Remus was getting to the heart of the matter. “Christmas 1994, Harry was fourteen.”

Remus ran through the addition and subtraction quickly. Fourteen in ’94 meant that he was born in 1980. Hermione said they were in the same year, so she was also born around 1980. If she was in her sixth year, that meant she was sixteen or seventeen years old now; she would be going to the year 1996. He had not eaten enough food to fuel his brain through this much convoluted maths, and he was having trouble figuring out how old he would be in the year she was from.

His brow folded with the effort of subtraction. Nineteen ninety-six minus nineteen sixty equals…

“I’m 36 where you’re from.” He looked at her with worry. He was an old man where she was from, her teacher…and he wanted to kiss her.

She nodded slightly and ignored the worrisome green tinge of illness that touched his face. “I believe so, yes.”

“A twenty-year age gap,” he said. “I don’t think they’ll approve of that.”

“No, I suspect not.”

“A twenty-year age gap,” he considered it, and glanced down at the picture again. If the boy had been born around 1980, then Evans could easily be his mother. Remus had to admit that he had never seen another person with eyes so startlingly green as Lily’s. “Is Harry Lily’s son?”

Hermione nodded.

“Who is his father?” Remus asked. The obvious answer would be James, but there was no way Evans would yield to his constant badgering. After years of harassment, she still refused to even consider going on a date with him.

When she remained silent, he started to think he might be right, as impossible as it seemed. “It can’t be James. Can it? What’s Harry’s last name?”

She paused to consider if he should know, but the urgency of his question affected her. “Potter,” she said slowly. “Harry Potter.”

Remus looked from the photo to her face. Yes, the boy looked like James, but to seriously suggest that he would actually win Lily Evans over, marry her and have a kid with her was just preposterous. She hated everything about James from his hair to his shoes.

He raised an eyebrow sceptically. “That right there pokes a hole in the credibility of your story,” Remus informed her.

“It’s the truth,” she said and brought the photo back up to his face. “ _Look_ at him.”

“I see it, but I can’t believe he actually convinces Evans to marry him.”

“From what I understand,” Hermione said. “Sometime before next year, he’ll stop being so obnoxious.”

“Wonder what happens?”

“Me, too,” she turned away as she replied thoughtfully. She had seen nothing in the last few months to convince Lily to date James, and if he didn’t change soon he would never become Head Boy and never win Evans.

“Have any photos of me?” He started looking around at the frames eagerly. He paused at every frame and studied the figures.  The Muggle photos were rather boring, with the figures standing stock still, but he liked seeing young Hermione. The movement in the wizard photos drew his attention away, and he found there were a worrying large number of the redheaded boy and his large redheaded family.

“No, I don’t, sorry,” she said. “You were only my teacher for a year and we haven’t had much time to take photos since.”

“Would’ve liked to see what I look like at almost 40,” he muttered. “Am I still in one piece?”

“Yes, though you have a scar just there,” she gestured across his face.

“No surprise there,” he shrugged. “So I’m the best DADA teacher you’ve ever had?”

“The best official teacher out of the six,” she said. “Harry was the best unofficial one.”

“Unofficial teacher?” he repeated. “Have teachers gotten that much worse in the future that they let the students teach?”

“It was a special circumstance,” Hermione said with a bitter edge to her voice.

“How so?” He leaned back on her bed, found the Room had provided him with grapes to eat and began feeding them into his mouth while he waited for her to explain.

She saw he was not going to stop staring until she told him, and sighed, “Very well. The Ministry sent a woman, Dolores Umbridge,” she rolled her eyes at the name, “to act as DADA teacher. She was horrid, all pink bows and kittens. She was more interested in making up new rules and punishing everyone than in actually teaching. She didn’t believe in practical experience.”

“Neither does Morven,” Remus said.

“But it was our OWLs year! She thought theory would be enough to get us through OWLs! Nonsense,” Hermione muttered. “I talked Harry into teaching us so that we could actually pass our exams. He was a wonderful teacher. He reminded me a lot of you when he taught. We practiced here in the Room of Requirement. Lessons were fantastic and we actually got to practice the theory. I can make a corporeal Patronus thanks to him. Although, since you were the one who taught Harry, I ought to say that I can make a corporeal Patronus thanks to you.”

Remus smiled. “You’re welcome. But why weren’t you the teacher? You’re clearly clever enough. Why was Harry chosen?”

“He had the most experience fighting the dark arts,” she said it like it was obvious to everyone, then slapped a hand over her mouth and stared at him with round eyes. It was clearly something she had not intended him to know.

“At fifteen?” Remus picked up the picture again and looked at Harry, James and Lily’s son. The boy in the photograph smoothed his unruly hair nervously and as he did his fringe shifted and the scar showed on his forehead.

He sat up and brought the photograph so close to his face that his nose touched the glass. He stared hard at the scar. The thin lightning bolt scar, so very different from the ones he had. Remus was well-read, and knew much about the effects of curses. A scar like that was only formed by a powerful curse, not the physical tearing of skin. Someone tried to curse James and Lily’s boy.

“That scar…who cursed him?” Remus whispered as if the assailant might appear in the room with them.

She paused before speaking. “Voldemort.”

He should have been disappointed and afraid that the dark wizard was still alive and threatening people in Hermione’s time, but he thought only of the boy. “Why would he do that? To a teenager…”

“To a baby,” she corrected.

“What? He was cursed as a baby? Why? How would Voldemort even get close enough? James and Lily would have stopped–“ His words ended abruptly when he saw her shift uncomfortably and become preoccupied with her shoes.

“Please don’t tell me they’re dead.”

Hermione kept her eyes turned away, and it was all the answer he needed. Voldemort attacked his friends, killed them, and tried to kill their son. Harry Potter grew up without them.

“How could he have survived?”

“It was old magic. Lily sacrificed herself to save Harry from Voldemort’s curse and it somehow blew the curse back at him,” she paused and decided it would be too much information. “It’s complicated. No one quite understands how it all happened,” Hermione finished lamely.

Remus stared at the photograph, watching the orphaned boy move his weight from one foot to the other nervously. He was James’ son. He was an enemy of Voldemort. The darkest wizard since Grindelwald had tried to kill the boy, but apparently failed.

“I’m starting to understand,” he told her quietly.

“Understand?”

“Why it’s so dangerous for you to stay.”

 

 


	29. V for Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some Marauders attempt meaningful and life-changing conversation while being shit-faced.

“Thank you,” Hermione sighed and sank to the floor, tears of relief spilling from her eyes.

Weakened as he was, Remus felt compelled to comfort her. He slid down from the bed and wrapped his bony arms around her. They had talked and flirted, and in his moon intoxication, he had kissed her and touched her intimately, but he had never just held her. This comforting embrace was the closest thing to a hug they had ever shared.

He expected her to push him away; she had turned her back on him for over a month, refused to speak to him and acknowledged him only when she was forced to see how devastated he had become. He was certain such close contact would be abhorrent to her.

He moved to break the contact. If he were the one to do it, it might not hurt so much, but, surprisingly, she pulled him close and buried her face in his baggy jumper.

“If I’d known you would react like this, I would have listened to your explanation last time,” he laughed.

She hugged him tighter in response, her arms wrapped all the way around his chest; he was so thin her fingertips almost brushed her shoulders. She held him to comfort him for her unforgivable behaviour. She held him to comfort him for the loss he had yet to suffer. She held him to comfort herself for almost losing him.

“As much as I hate the idea of you letting go,” Remus whispered some time later, “I think we might consider going down to dinner.”

“Will you eat?” she asked, her words muffled in his clothes.

“I will if you will.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he said. “You might have to help me get there.”

He felt pathetic having to lean on her for support, but it meant he could hold her close for the wonderfully long walk back to the Great Hall. He blessed the moving staircases, which were being fantastically stubborn that evening and refused to stop on their landings. As they waited, Hermione wrapped her arms around him to keep him standing upright. He buried his face in her bushy hair and luxuriated in the soft curls.

“I like your hair better this way,” he commented.

“My hair?” She touched her hand to it. “My hair! Oh no!”

She broke her hold on him and waved her wand around her head. The bushiness  of her hair diminished until it lay flat and turned a strawberry blond. Her eyes lightened in a way that looked like someone was pouring milk into a strong cup of tea. When she was done, Remus found he didn’t like it. Mione was stiff and false where Hermione was soft and natural. He wanted to change her back, but she would never have agreed.

Still, he got to have her arms wrapped around him.

The staircase arrived at their landing and they walked carefully down to the next floor, around the corner, down the corridor, down another two staircases and, finally, through the entrance hall to the Great Hall. The whole trip took three times longer than normal because Remus had to stop and take a rest every so often. Even after eating lunch and snacking on grapes, he still grew tired after only a few steps. He was quite annoyed at how weak he had gotten.

“I think you won,” Mione commented, the hint of French accent back in her voice.

He looked and saw the Gryffindor table alive with victory. Party poppers exploded with streamers in every direction. James was riding high on the shoulders of his teammates and enjoying every second of it. Remus wondered if Harry would have acted that way. He wanted to ask her, but Sirius yelled for him.

“Moony! You’re still alive!” He jogged out to meet them, as eager to share the good news as to assess his friend’s state. “I gave up waiting after the first two hours.”

“There was a lot to talk about,” Remus said. A Ravenclaw ran past the open door with a plate overburdened with food and Remus was lost in the aromas. He stared over his friend’s shoulder at the crowded Gryffindor table. “I’m hungry.”

“It’s about fucking time!” Sirius proclaimed. He hoisted Remus into his arm and carried him into the Great Hall. Mione stood back and watched him fill his plate before she went to the Hufflepuff table.

Fully engrossed in his attempts to sample a full helping of everything on the table, Remus didn’t notice that Mione was not there. He tore into a jacket potato, eating two before he looked up to see his friend staring at him in amazement.

“I’m very annoyed with you,” Remus informed him.

Sirius blinked back his astonishment that Remus was capable of eating so much in one sitting. “Me? What’d I do?”

“Look at me!” Remus pulled at the excess fabric of his jumper. It had fit snugly at the end of December. “I’m a stick! I blame you for this.”

“What?” Sirius threw a jacket potato at him and was pleased to see him catch it in his hands and throw it onto his overflowing plate.

“So what did you talk about?” Sirius asked.

“Her.”

The Animagus made a face, implying his dislike of the girl. “What about her?”

“We got it wrong. She’s not going back, she’s going forward,” Remus said between bites of steak. “And it’s not bollocks; it really is dangerous for her to stay here.”

The fact that Mione was from the future registered in Sirius’s brain, but he was more interested in the way his emaciated friend agreed so readily to Mione having to go. He put his down his knife and fork, and looked across the table. “So after one afternoon of talking you’re okay with her leaving you?”

Remus paused mid-bite and thought about it as he slowly chewed and swallowed. “No, but I understand.”

“She’s going forward? How far?”

Remus used his fingers to gesture twenty; his mouth was full and he also didn’t want to announce it to the world.

Sirius didn’t have that concern. He nearly shouted, “Years?”

Remus nodded, still chewing. He was irritated to find that even his jaw muscles were weak; chewing was difficult and took nearly all his focus.

“Fuck, you’ll be an old man by then,” Sirius whistled low at the prospect. “A dirty old man, apparently.”

“Shut up.”

“What did he say this time?” James dropped into his seat next to Sirius and elbowed him for whatever he said to offend Moony. He was breathless from laughing, and still lightheaded from the bouncing he’d gotten on the shoulders of his teammates. “What?”

Remus was staring at him, trying to imagine what Harry, his son, would sound like. He was quite clearly a different person. James was all boasting and strutting. Harry looked far more modest, though he did have plenty more to crow about if Hermione’s reaction to him was any indication. What would the boy be like if James and Lily didn’t die?

“Do I have something on my face?” James asked.

“Sorry, just something Mione said,” Remus ducked his head and shovelled in some veg. If he kept his mouth full, they would not be able to get answers from him.

“Shit! You’re eating!” James pointed. “It is a glorious day for Gryffindor.”

“Git.” Remus muttered through his veg.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, young man,” Sirius scolded.

Remus just grinned at him, sunken cheeks rounded out like a squirrel storing away nuts. He kept his face full the whole dinner, eating far more than seemed possible or healthy given his month of eating nothing at all. As the Gryffindors started singing their way back to the tower, Remus followed them to the entrance hall and turned the opposite way.

“Moony, where are you going?” James called. “Victory celebration in the common room!”

“I’m heading to hospital wing,” Remus replied. “Maybe Madam Pomfrey has something to fix me.”

“She’s just a nurse, Moony, not a miracle worker,” Sirius patted his shoulder consolingly. “Come on, I’ll walk you.”

Remus shrugged his hand away. “It’s alright. I’ll take myself,” he said and walked away under his own unsteady power. Sirius watched him go, impressed that he was able to support the weight of all the food he had eaten when that morning he couldn’t even hold himself up. Amazing what a single girl could do to a bloke. He grinned and followed the victory cheers up to the Gryffindor dormitory.

The party lasted into the morning, with Peter and James making two runs to the kitchen under the invisibility cloak to keep the revellers well supplied. Close to midnight, after the younger Gryffindors had worn themselves out and gone to bed, a number of the seventh years and of-age sixth years stole up to their warded trunks and came back with bottles of Firewhiskey, Ogden’s was most prevalent, and shared their wealth among those still standing regardless of their age.

Saturday morning in the Gryffindor tower was not a pleasant one.

Remus returned from hospital after breakfast. The smell of alcohol and sick was overpowering and threatened to turn his recently-filled stomach. He held his nose as he passed each washroom on the way up to his bedroom, but the sound of retching was still sickening.

Sirius was sleeping sideways on his bed, his head and feet hanging off of either side, sticking out from under the scarlet curtains. James hadn’t even made it to his bed; he was asleep on the rug under the window. The Prefect shook his head. It was no wonder Evans didn’t look twice at him. James would have to change drastically for the girl to consider becoming a Potter. Lily Potter. The idea still seemed absurd to him.

“Why you lookin’ at me like that?” James squinted at him, his glasses on upside down.

“You ever think that what Evans says about you is true?” Remus asked.

“Wha?” James screwed up his face in concentration.

Remus shrugged. It was probably pointless to bring it up while he was still inebriated, but continued, “Maybe if you listened to what she said, changed what she didn’t like, she’d go out with you.”

“Yer lucky yer a skeleton, mate,” James said as he rose on wobbly, whiskey-soaked legs. He meant to sound threatening, but failed utterly.

Remus ignored his unsuccessful attempt at intimidation and started undressing. He pulled off his robes and jumper. The button-down shirt beneath was tight on his arms and back. His chest, scarred from the werewolf’s attacks, was no longer withered and sunken.

“Wait,” James said and poked him in the chest with an uncertain finger. He had been able to see the boy’s ribs and sternum just yesterday, but now it was all muscle.  “When did that happen? How the hell long have I been out?”

“Madam Pomfrey really is a miracle worker,” Sirius muttered, still hanging upside down on his bed. “You weren’t that healthy before Christmas.”

“Wha’d she give you?” James asked.

“Don’t know, but it works quickly,” Remus commented with a shrug, enjoying the ability to move his shoulders without using all his energy.

James flexed his considerably smaller biceps. “Think it would work on me?”

“Doubtful.”

“Git.”

“You’re drunk, so I’ll ignore you,” Remus patted him on the head and ruffled his uncharacteristically smooth hair. “I need a bath. I’m heading to the Prefect washroom. Try not to throw up on my bed.”

“Git!” Sirius called after him.

“Git’s right,” James staggered to his bed. “Tellin’ me Evans won’t date me if I don’t change. What’s wrong wi’ the way I am?”

Sirius, still viewing the world turned on its axis, looked at him, “Well, she thinks you’re arrogant,” James snorted, “a show off,” James scoffed, “a bully,” James shrugged, “and a toe-rag.”

“So what if I’m proud of what I can do?” he grumbled. “I deserve some credit.”

“You go about like you deserve credit for breathin’, mate,” he said and waggled an admonishing finger at him. “So what if you can wipe your own arse, it’s nothing to go braggin’ about.”

“You’re drunk,” James folded his arms and turned away from him, the sudden motion making his head swim.

Sirius laughed drunkenly. “So’re you. You think we’d be talkin’ about this if we were sober?”

James jumped up, but fell immediately back to the bed when his head spun and his stomach turned. “I don’t go around tellin’ everybody to like me…”

“You tell Evans to,” Sirius said and rolled out of bed to sit on the floor. He thought it the best place to keep himself until he was sober enough to not fall off of it. “You show off how quick you are every chance you get.”

“I’m practicing,” James said flatly, though he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“You’re a git and a show off.”

“And you’re lucky I’m drunk and that my parents like you.”

Sirius grinned. “Everybody’s parents like me.”

“Now who’s the braggart?”

“Ain’t about me,” Sirius said. “It’s about you and Evans.”

“And why bring it up now? You’d think he’d be on about Mione, not me and Evans.”

He shrugged. “He’s got his girl. Wants to see you with yours.”

“Maybe,” James said doubtfully. “What’d they do yesterday anyway?”

“Talked,” Sirius made a disapproving face.

“About what?”

He waved his hands in the air like the dippy Divination teacher, Madam Coultard, when she talked referenced the mystic unknown, “About her secrets. She’s from the future—twenty years.”

James’s intoxicated mind ground to a stop. “Twenty years? She’d be old enough to know our kids.”

Sirius caught his drift. “Bringing up you and Evans after talking to future girl…”

“You think I actually get the girl?” James’s hazel eyes went wide. “Lily Potter. There’s a thought.”

The boy sitting on the floor snorted, “If you make yourself less of an arse.”

“Impossible,” Remus said as he came into their room and conversation. “James is an arse by nature.”

“Do I get Evans?” James jumped up. He ignored the vertigo and grabbed Remus’s biceps, gripping them until it hurt. “That’s why you said it! She told you! I get the girl.”

“Not at the rate you’re going,” Remus shook his head. “I saw a picture of your kid–“

“We have a kid?”

“He’s–“

“We have a boy?”

“—nothing like you.”

“What?” James said, disappointed. “He doesn’t look like me?”

“Looks just like you, but he’s nothing like you. He’s modest, James,” Remus said. He didn’t say any more. Hermione had not given him permission to even say that much to him, but, if the future was to move along as planned, James would have to change. She said that something happened before the start of their seventh year to make him less obnoxious; maybe this was it.

“So he took after Evans,” James shrugged.

“He won’t take after anyone if he’s never born, which is exactly what’s going to happen if you don’t stop being such a fucking prat,” Remus informed him harshly.

“He’s right, you know,” Sirius said from his seat on the floor.

“Shut up, the pair of you!”

“Make us,” Remus crossed his arms over his chest.

Yesterday James could have knocked his friend over with a well-aimed pillow, but Remus was rebuilt now. He looked as strong as Sirius, which meant he could wipe the floor with the scrawny Chaser. His arms were larger around than James’s legs. It was a completely unfair fight and they both knew it. James grabbed his dressing gown and left for the washroom.

“Where you goin’?” Sirius called.

“Gotta make myself presentable for Evans,” he muttered, defeated. “Can’t go down to say ‘good morning’ smelling like a drunkard, now can I?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how much I love the Marauders and their potential for banter. I love their banter. One upon a time I hated to write dialogue... then I started writing the Marauders!


	30. Such Hard Work

The common room was unnaturally quiet when James came in. It felt like the waiting room of St Mungo’s Hospital; everyone looked ill and was whispering for the benefit of those with the harsher hangovers. He spotted Lily Evans, studying her Transfiguration notes, by the fire, her gorgeous red hair pulled up and held in place by her wand. She was smarter than him; she had only two shots of Ogden’s and called it enough, while James and his idiot friends downed a bottle and a half between them. His head ached and his mouth was dry, but he stood up to his full height and walked over to her.

“Evans,” he said.

He saw her body language shift as she braced herself for his irritating advances and wondered if she did that every time he approached. If she did, he had never noticed. “What?”

“Thanks for letting me borrow your notes last week.” He handed the roll of parchment to her and walked away.

Lily accepted the roll and watched him leave, confused why he hadn’t tried to force her into a date in order to get her notes back. He was walking toward his teammates and their well-wishers and she knew he must have been in a hurry to show off for them. She narrowed her green eyes and listened, expecting to hear him recount his heroic feats on the pitch, dodging bludgers and scoring more points than the two other chasers combined.

“Great goals, James!” She heard someone say.

“Thanks,” James ruffled his hair. Here it comes, Lily thought. “It’s my job,” he said with a shrug.

“Yeah, but you were brilliant! Made McDorrin look useless!” the fan insisted.

“McDorrin made himself look useless. I just did my part to help beat those Slytherin bastards.”

They were clearly disappointed that they weren’t going to get anything more out of him.

“Hey, Winnifred,” James said, “Great save at the last minute.”

“Thanks,” the Gryffindor Keeper said, surprised. James rarely complimented anyone when there was so much potential to talk about himself.

Lily forgot all about her Transfiguration notes and watched in amazement. James was practically humble, passing over all opportunities to brag about himself in favour of praising others. He broke with the crowd. She hurried to look back at her notes.

“Evans, thanks again for the notes,” he said.

“Yeah…” she replied. “Any time…”

James left through the portrait hole and walked down to the Great Hall. Remus and Sirius caught up with him on the way. The fourth Marauder opted to remain in the common room and hear the players retell their most exciting moments.

“How did it go?” Sirius asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” James said in an equally low voice. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Voices came to them as they went, girls following along behind them; they were walking some distance behind, but their words echoed off the stones and brought their conversation to the boys’ ears. James recognised Evans’s voice among them. She said his name. Well, she called him ‘That Prat Potter’ but it was a start that she was even discussing him with her friends. He couldn’t make out their exact conversation and wanted nothing more than to stop, drape himself over a statue and wait for them to come by. It was a struggle, but he fought his instincts and kept walking, satisfied that he was their topic of talk.

Mione was standing in the entrance hall with her friends. Edlyn had wanted to congratulate James on his performance, but didn’t have the courage to wait for him alone. When the boys came around the corner, the girl squeaked and tried to hide behind her friends.

Una, getting even for when she was shoved into Sirius’s path, nudged her forward until she was standing right in front of the Chaser.

“Um… You were very good,” she said.

“Thank you,” he smiled broadly, old habits coming to the forefront. He remembered Evans, though, and made an effort not to revel in the adoration. “It was all for the team.”

Edlyn blushed and stuttered and couldn’t say anything else without descending into giggles.

Una, wanting to save her friend’s dignity, spoke up. “Remus, how are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you.”

“You look amazing,” she said and glanced at Mione. The French girl had been rendered speechless by his appearance, such a contrast from when she last saw him. He was fitter and handsomer than ever. Even his eyes sparkled with health and mirth.

“Thank you,” he smiled, unused to such compliments.

“You made him blush!” Sirius elbowed him. He was glad to have Remus healthy so that he could taunt and shove him around again.

“Shut up.”

“Ladies,” Sirius smiled. “Would you care to join us at the Gryffindor table? Everyone’s a Gryffindor in victory.”

Una nodded enthusiastically and squealed when he held out his arm for her. Remus offered his to Edlyn, who grinned and blatantly gave his bicep a squeeze as she winked at Mione.

“Gits, the lot of them,” James shook his head and gestured for Mione to enter the Great Hall. “Ladies first.”

“Merci.”

Hidden just out of sight, Lily Evans watched the exchange. James Potter modest and polite. James Potter allowing someone else to be the centre of a conversation. James Potter being normal. It was unnatural, but nice to see. She had always thought him attractive, though his behaviour rendered his good looks a moot point. She wanted to see if he could keep up this charade.

Sirius was right, everyone was a Gryffindor in victory; their table was overflowing with students she had only ever seen in passing. Lily saw it as a good reason to sit elsewhere and observe Potter’s behaviour. She sat on the far side of the Hufflepuff table where she would be well placed to observe him as he turned back into his usual toe-rag.

They were talking of Quidditch; Sirius was describing the game for Remus, taking extra care to vocalise how brilliant their friend had been. James, smiled and accepted the praise, but also pointed out where Sirius was overstating it or when he completely skipped over a teammate’s accomplishment. Lily was stunned.

“What’s gotten into him?” Mary Macdonald whispered.

“I have no idea,” Lily replied.

“Maybe he caught whatever Remus had.”

“Maybe,” she said aloud, but thought to herself, Oh, I hope not.

From where he was sitting, Remus could see Lily and Mary. He covered his mouth to keep them from reading his lips and whispered to James, “Lily Evans is staring at you.”

“Goal!” Sirius grinned and whispered.

Mione cleared her throat delicately and stood. “Excuse me. There’s something I need to go work on.”

“You work too much,” James chided.

“Perhaps you don’t work enough,” she smiled.

“What do you call this?” James gestured to himself. “This is a lot of work.”

She patted his head sympathetically and cooed, “Yes, being normal and approachable is such hard work for the rest of us.” He waved her hand away, afraid of looking too lame in front of Evans. “I’m off. Au revoir.”

“May I join you?” Remus asked.

“You’re not going to try sabotaging me?” She narrowed her eyes at him. He shook his head, emphatically not. “Very well.”

Una and Edlyn watched the play between them with confusion, not knowing of any homework assignment so vital that Remus could ‘sabotage’ it, but, as it left them with their desired crushes, the girls didn’t really care if she left.

“Why is James acting so odd?” Mione asked as they left.

Remus watched her reaction as he spoke. “I might have suggested that he wouldn’t have a chance if he didn’t change his ways.” He added a little quieter, “I might also have mentioned that they had a son.”

“How much did you say?” she paled.

“Not enough to change anything that wasn’t supposed to change,” he replied quickly, pausing to look at her worried expression. “He was supposed to change, wasn’t he? He was supposed to become less obnoxious so she’d like him. That’s what you said.”

“That is what I said…” She considered it. They never knew what happened to reel in James’s pride and make him more likable to Lily Evans. Remus and Sirius never mentioned why he had changed.

“I just nudged him a bit,” Remus said quietly.

She laughed and hugged his arm. “I always wondered what happened to make James change. Now I know.”

“It’s only been a few hours,” Remus warned. “He’s never been so humble for so long. I don’t know if he’ll be able to maintain it.”

“He will if she keeps staring at him.” She smiled and wished she would be there for when Lily finally agreed to go on a date. It was like watching Harry and Ginny all over again. They were perfect, but they just wouldn’t see it.

Remus wanted to ask about the sad look in her eyes, but didn’t want to ruin the feeling in his chest. She was still holding his arm tight, hugging it, hugging him. They were together, properly together. He worried slightly that she had something planned. She had cut him off completely from her attentions to make leaving easier, but that plan failed. She had to have a new plan, as clever as she was, one that would keep him from suffering after she left. He didn’t know what it would be. Part of him hoped she would hang the consequences and bring him with her.

The way she clung to him, he felt it might be a distinct possibility. She released him only to pace the floor to summon the door of the Room of Requirement. Once it appeared, she laced her fingers into his and pulled him in with her.

It wasn’t her childhood bedroom anymore, it was a laboratory, and it was fetid.

“Dear gods, what is that stink?”


	31. Confessions

Remus released her hand and slapped both of his over his mouth and nose, gripping his nostrils shut to the point of near-asphyxiation. The fumes attacked his eyes, making them water. Mione held her breath long enough to create a bubble of clean air around her head, before doing him the same courtesy.

“It’s all right,” she assured him. “You can breathe now.”

“What is that stink?” he repeated.

“The potion I need to make granules of time,” she said. “You see, according to what I’ve read it is possible to magically solidify time using–“

“I know,” Remus interrupted. “I looked through some of the books you were reading.”

“Oh,” she said and smiled. She wasn’t used to having a companion capable of keeping up with her research. Usually Ron and Harry just took her word for it or made her dumb everything down for them. This was quite refreshing.

“So how much longer do you have to put up with this smell?”

“The potion will be matured in twenty-six days,” she said. She removed the cover from the cauldron. The golden brown potion had developed a green film, which was normal and a sign of developing maturity according to her notes. When the film had hardened into a crust, the potion would be ready.

“Then what?”

“Then,” she took a breath. “I will use the spell referenced in the books to crystallise time on the surface of the potion. Each minute that passes will make a single granule, which will have to be put in a temporal bubble.”

“You’ve got one of those handy, have you?” he smirked.

She tilted her head at him, only slightly offended at the suggestion that she wasn’t prepared. “As a matter of fact, I do,” she said and pointed to a jar. It looked like an ordinary glass jar. Inside it he could see miniscule tadpoles swimming in water.

“How do you know it’s a temporal bubble? It looks like a jar with a fresh hatch of frogs.”

“Those tadpoles have been in that phase of development for four weeks. By now they ought to have tripled in size and been developing gills, but they are still feeding on their yolk sacks.”

“What?” He lifted the jar and watched the tadpoles swim.

“They are frozen in this phase of development until they leave the jar.”

“You are brilliant.”

She blushed and ducked her head as if he had complimented her beauty. She cleared her throat gently and returned to the process of her experiment. “I’m most concerned with the crystallisation spell. There’s no way to test it and it can result in deadly explosions if performed incorrectly.”

She lifted the scroll with all her notes and pointed to the one she was talking about. The explanations were in French, but the Latin spell was blocked off with a diagram of the wand motions. He made the gestures as he saw them and muttered the incantation. It was not complicated, but, when directed at a potion that noxious, it wasn’t hard to imagine the results being combustible.

“Dumbledore provided me with protective gloves and a very powerful shielding charm, so I’m not concerned about dying,” she assured him; he raised an incredulous eyebrow at her. “Well, if it explodes, I have to start from the beginning and wait another two months for the potion to mature.”

“I’m not seeing the downside,” he said, a small smirk pulling at his mouth.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you?”

He leaned back on a table, folded his arms across his chest and looked at her seriously. She shifted a bit uncomfortably, but held his gaze. “Mione… Hermione, you are the brightest witch I’ve ever met. You will get it right, with irritating perfection and far too quickly for my liking.”

Her face lit up. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” he smiled. “A little luck and you’ll be gone before Gryffindor’s next Quidditch match.”

“Luck is a completely ridiculous concept,” she scoffed. “But I appreciate the thought.”

“Luck is ridiculous? Then explain the effects of Felix Felicis.”

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly and waved away the very idea. “All that potion does is provide self-confidence,” she said. “A person with self-confidence can accomplish anything. Look at James: He is unabashedly confident and he succeeds in nearly everything he does. It’s the same with Felix Felicis; you are confident and you succeed. That’s all. Over the years, the superstitious have attributed the effects of the potion to luck, so they call it the luck potion. It’s nonsense, but the effects are the same.”

“So, you’re saying you wouldn’t like a vial of Felix Felicis on the day you start your crystals growing?” He narrowed his eyes at her and watched her consider the idea. He could tell by the way she squirmed that she was fighting hard not to admit that she wanted it.

“I could see the benefits of taking the potion,” she conceded slowly.

“Ah-ha!”

“But it’s still just self-confidence. I don’t believe in luck.” She put her hand over his mouth to stop him smiling. “It doesn’t matter since I haven’t got any Felix Felicis.”

He kissed her palm and said, “I’m sure we could find you some.”

“What?”

“Professor Slughorn offered it as a prize on the first day of Potions. I’m sure he used it as the prize to your class, too. We could ‘borrow’ the vial from one of the winners or see if Slughorn has any more in his personal potions cabinet,” Remus explained into her hand; she was too shocked to move it and found she enjoyed the sensation of his lips brushing against her skin as he talked.

“That’s stealing,” she said. “I can’t allow that.”

“Can’t allow? You talk like a Prefect,” he said flatly.

“I am a Prefect.”

He tilted his head and considered her studiousness and her determination to follow Dumbledore’s rules even the point of harming someone. “I believe that. What House were you in?”

“Gryffindor.”

“I would have pegged you for a Ravenclaw.”

“Everyone says that,” she replied, sounding a little annoyed. “Back to the point, you cannot go stealing from students or a teacher.”

He noticed the guilty blush cross her cheeks and nose as she said it. The Prefect had stolen something. When, he wondered, and from whom? “You’ve never stolen anything?” he asked disbelievingly.

“Well, that is not the point,” she stuttered and walked away.

“Ah, but it is.” His long strides brought him around to block her. He trapped her against the table, his arms preventing her escape. “You say you can’t allow it, that it’s wrong, but if it’s something you, a Prefect, have done, then it’s something that I can do, too.”

“I wasn’t a Prefect then,” she muttered as if it made some sort of difference.

“What did you steal?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” she insisted.

He tried a different approach. He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, light and teasing at first until her saw her eyes close and felt her lips come to meet his. They kissed, not like the last time, not harsh and demanding. This was kissing as he preferred it, soft and mutually pleasurable. Her tongue raked his lip and he let her in. She moaned as their tongues met, and he broke the kiss.

“What did you take?” he whispered in her ear, and licked the skin of her neck just below it.

“Just…just some boomslang skin…” she replied.

“Who from?”

“The Potions Master.”

He pulled away and looked at her. “You stole from a teacher? And they let you become a Prefect?”

“Well–“ She began, but found it difficult to continue with Remus’s tongue in her mouth. It was a much more spirited kiss than the one he used to pry the information from her. She didn’t enjoy him using his kisses in such a way, but the reward for sharing her criminal past was well worth it. She pulled at his shirt, trying to bring him closer, to feel his newly restored chest against hers, his capable arms around her. He broke the kiss again.

“What?” she asked, disappointed.

“I’ve decided since you have such little regard for a teacher’s personal stores, I’m fully justified in my plan to bring you luck,” he smirked, his lips moist and tempting. “And when you are successful thanks to me, I expect to be given an appropriate ‘thank you’.”

Hermione turned her face away, irritated that he was going to break the rules and that he was making such demands of her. Her show of vexation did not have the desired effect. Remus found the exposed flesh of her neck with his lips, laying the most tantalisingly delicate kisses from her ear down to her collar bone.

“What did you have in mind?” she managed to ask, though quite breathlessly.

“For a thank you? I’m not sure. Something that expresses your gratitude. Something that only you can give me. Something that tells me just how sorry you are that you’re leaving me. Something special.” He punctuated each suggestion with a flick of his tongue and a lingering kiss on her neck.

“It sounds like you want something fairly intimate.”

“Well, that,” he kissed her jaw, “is entirely,” the corner of her mouth, “up to you.”

“You enjoy teasing me, don’t you?” she glared at him.

“Very much.”

He kissed her. She was annoyed and didn’t let him into her mouth. He licked and nibbled at her lip, but she would not relent. He pulled away. “All right,” he sighed. “I won’t steal you any Felix Felicis. Even though I do think it would help you not get blown up, and you’d get home faster. But if that’s what you want…”

“You swear?” she looked into his blue eyes for signs of falsehood.

“Far too often for propriety, but it can’t be helped with Sirius as a friend,” he smirked, but when he saw the look on her face, he dropped the humour. “I swear I will not steal anything for you.”

“Good,” she said. “Now that you have completely distracted me from my original goal, I think it’s time to leave.”

“I should see how James is making out with Lily. And I did not mean that how it sounded,” he smiled at her modest blush. “Considering what I did to you under the influence of the full moon, I’m amazed you blush so often.”

She flushed to a Gryffindor scarlet and looked at everything but his face. She was still haunted by the effects of his clever fingers. On the rare occasions that she fell asleep while studying, she always woke from dreams of them naked together. Madam Pomfrey worried about the amount of Dreamless Sleep she requested, but complied knowing that she had special circumstances surrounding her arrival at Hogwarts. Hermione tried very hard to pretend what he did had never happened, so having him talk about it without worry or shame was too much.

“Do you hate me for that?” he asked, worry evident in his voice.

She kept her eyes locked on the floor as she answered him. “I wish you hadn’t.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not that,” she whispered, embarrassment further colouring her skin and the tone of her voice. “I’m like the werewolf now that he’s had a taste of blood. I had a taste. I know what I’m missing and I…” She took a deep breath and pushed out the last of her confession, “I want more.”

Remus flushed. He felt his body at once both hot with the same want and chilled by her referring to herself as the predatory werewolf. She didn’t hate him, but she did blame him for making her aware. It was hardly the response he had been expecting. He would have been more comfortable if she had slapped him and told him he had been a cad. He would have accepted her saying he had brutalised her. But to have her say that she _liked_ it left him a chaotic mess.

“Is that bad?” she asked, her voice still low.

“I don’t know,” he whispered his reply. “I thought you’d be mad at me.”

“How could I be mad at you?” she wrapped her arms around him.

His heart started beating erratically as he felt her warmth through his clothes, felt her breasts pressed against him. He fought the heat making his stomach clench. “You are making it really hard for me to keep my promise,” he laughed nervously.

“Which one?”

“I promised not to sabotage you,” he reminded her. “But I really want to force you to stay a while longer. You said Dumbledore gave you a really strong shield charm, right?”

“Shut up,” she smiled.

“Make me.”

She complied in the best way she knew how, with her lips over his.

 

 


	32. As Luck Would Have It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys banter and plot cunningly.

His legs could barely support him. He had used all his energy fighting the urge to give Mione what she wanted. Her confession had left him with a Gorgon’s knot of emotions and thoughts, but as she kissed him one emotion untangled itself from the knot and spread through him–desire. He felt its heat spreading through him like the fever before the full moon. It took every bit of the strength Madam Pomfrey’s potion had given him to fight it down.

Yes, she wanted more, but she didn’t say she wanted it right there and then.

Remus left Mione to mind her horrid potion and practice the spell that might result in her death. All his power gone from resisting the base urges, he walked on wobbly legs to the Gryffindor tower and fell face first onto his bed.

“You look like you had fun,” Sirius commented. He was finishing the last paragraph of his Potions essay, and had hoped to have Remus check it for him. Judging by his arrival, though, he was in no humour for it.

“I’m a dead man,” Remus said into his pillow.

“What did you do?” his friend accused with a smirk.

Remus rolled over, and sighed. “It’s what I’m trying _not_ to do.”

“You randy bastard,” Sirius smiled. “How many times do I have to tell you that girls are not interested in just having sex all the time?”

“I think you might be wrong on that one tiny little point, Padfoot.”

Sirius paused, put the stopper in his inkpot, blotted his essay and set it aside before he stood and pulled Remus up to the sitting position. “You will tell me everything. And you will tell me now.”

Remus slumped but remained sitting. “Remember the December full moon?”

“I remember you were a right insufferable bastard,” Sirius said. “You made Mione’s life rather unpleasant from what I saw—What did you do to her?”

Remus flinched at how quickly his friend caught on. “I went to tell her how I felt about her, but being so close to moon rise things got a bit heated.”

“How heated?”

“I kissed her,” Remus said. “And I…” he gestured with his fingers the actions he was too embarrassed to say aloud.

“Shit! You didn’t.” His eyes grew into silver Sickles as Remus nodded. “And she’s still talking to you?”

“More than talking,” Remus smiled. “She kissed me.”

“I can see that,” Sirius pointed to his friend’s face, lipstick smudged around his mouth, his hair as dishevelled as James’s after a Quidditch game and his clothes pulled askew. “Anything else?”

“She said…she wishes I hadn’t done...you know…because it made her want more.”

Sirius stared at him in utter disbelief, grey eyes still enormous and mouth wide open. “Is there nothing you’re not brilliant at?”

“Fuck off.”

“So why are you a dead man?”

“She said that and then kissed me,” Remus said. “Do you have any idea how hard it is not to jump on a statement like that? I’m dead. Every time I see her that’s all I’m going to hear. It’s going to kill me not to act on it.”

“Oh, you poor baby,” Sirius said sarcastically. “The girl you like wants to have sex with you. Whatever will you do?”

“Fuck off.”

“An excellent plan, Remus, you should fuck off with her.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I! She’s leaving in a month, or so you tell us,” Sirius said, all joviality gone from his face and voice. “She’s leaving, Moony. And when you see her again, you will be nearly forty and she will be exactly the same. Wizarding and Muggle societies both say that’s wrong. So you’d better do it while you still can.”

“It’s a wonder I ever made Prefect with you around. You give the worst advice,” Remus shoved him away and fell back onto his bed.  “I need to ask Mione what happens to you in the future,” Remus muttered. “I bet a hundred Galleons that you wind up in Azkaban.”

“I give _realistic_ advice,” Sirius corrected, ignoring his prediction of incarceration. “Ask James, he’ll tell you the same thing.”

“What would I say?” James asked, limping into the room.

“What happened to you?” Sirius asked.

“A bunch of diehards tried lifting me on their shoulders to celebrate the win,” James explained as he landed heavily onto his bed and began massaging his ankle. “Evans was watching, so I tried to stop them. They dropped me.”

“Did she see that part?”

“Yeah, was very impressed that I didn’t want to get hoisted like the hero,” he grinned. “Moony, you were absolutely right. I’ve made more progress with her in one day than in the last three years!”

“Great,” Remus said. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked across the room. “You owe me one, then. And I’m collecting now.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“Help,” Sirius said for him. “His girl actually wants to have sex with him. Save him from the terrifying little thing, will you?”

“I believe I’ve already told you to fuck off,” Remus growled. “I need you to steal something for me.”

“Oh, now who’s going to go to Azkaban?” Sirius commented and went back to his bed. It would be useless trying to finish his essay with so much happening around him.

“Fuck off. Felix Felicis. The Ravenclaw who won it on the first day of Potions, can you steal it from her?”

“Would, but she’s already used it to win herself McDorrin as a boyfriend,” James said with a disgusted look. Why anyone would want McDorrin was a mystery. “Who won it in Mione’s class?”

“She didn’t say. She actually made me promise not to steal it,” Remus admitted. “She’s a Prefect where she comes from. A strict one, apparently.”

“Wouldn’t want to be in her house,” James made a face. He wouldn’t get away with half the stuff he did if Mione was his Prefect.

“You already are. She’s a Gryffindor,” Remus smiled.

“Figured her for a Ravenclaw,” Sirius said. He accepted that he was relegated to the sidebar of the conversation, but that didn’t make it any less interesting. Remus was usually the one discouraging them from breaking the rules. He was once again amazed by the power of girls.

“Do you think Slughorn has any more Felix in his stores?” Remus asked.

“I don’t know, but I can find out,” James said. “Sirius, did you open that bottle of Muggle Cognac my parents gave you for Christmas?”

“Not yet,” he replied, smiling.

“Might I borrow it?”

“You may,” Sirius said politely. He opened his trunk and pulled out the bottle still housed in a peacock blue velvet gift bag. He pulled the tag that read ‘To: Sirius, our favourite adopted son’ off the drawstring and passed the bottle to James. The tag was tucked delicately away in his trunk for later viewing when he was depressed about his lack of proper family.

“I believe a toast to Gryffindor’s victory is in order, and I have just the professor to raise a glass with,” James smiled and limped from the dorm.

oOo

The dungeon door was nearly double the size of a regular doorway, yet Horace Slughorn managed to fill it. His brocade dressing gown matched his flannel pyjamas and tasselled night cap to perfection. The professor looked at James with delight, if some confusion.

“James, my boy!” Slughorn patted him on the shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

“Good evening, Professor,” James smiled, then said in a sombre tone. “I wanted to console you on your loss.”

He held up the velvet bag and surrendered it to the man’s round and reaching fingers. Slughorn’s eyes lit up in delight as he saw the bottle of copper coloured liquid, and his mouth watered under his waxed moustache. He studied the label and ran a finger over the image of a little centaur raising a lance.

“Muggle,” he said appreciatively. “I’m familiar with this brand, but have never had the opportunity to try it.”

“Being the one to score the most points against your House team, I thought I ought to be the one to make amends,” James said, a satisfied smile pulling at his mouth.

“Quite right, my boy.”

Slughorn stood aside and let James through to his quarters. James knew the way around the elaborately furnished room. After his first spectacular Quidditch game, he had been invited to join The Slug Club and had been in attendance at a number of the preening professor’s functions. He waited by the decorative lounge until Slughorn invited him to sit. Manners were everything when one was planning to steal information or more from someone.

“You were a wonder on the pitch yesterday, my boy.”

“Thank you, Professor,” James smiled.

Slughorn took his time opening the bottle, listening to the seal break and waiting for the first smells to reach his nose. He sighed when they came and poured the drink in moderation.

“To your victory,” Slughorn offered him a glass and gestured for him to sit.

“Thank you, Professor,” he took it and smelled the Muggle drink. “Mione Garnier actually accused me of cheating!”

“Cheating?”

“She insisted I had to have used a luck potion to be able to perform so well,” James laughed at the very idea.

Slughorn laughed boisterously as if he were intoxicated already, though he had barely wet his lips with the cognac. “She knows just as well as you that to use Felix Felicis during a Quidditch game is illegal.”

“She doesn’t believe I’m that good,” James said incredulously, keeping the smile on his face even as he cringed inwardly; it felt odd to boast about himself so blatantly after spending the day being humble. It actually felt wrong. He thought he sounded pretentious and obnoxious.

“Well, I know differently,” he assured the boy.

“Mind you,” James smiled, “I wouldn’t say no to a bit of luck in other endeavours. There’s a girl I’ve been trying to win over for years…”

Slughorn grinned knowingly, “Ah, the bright Miss Evans.”

“That’s the one,” he said with a wink, and continued in a tone that sounded unbelievably false to his own ears. “I tried ever so hard to win that vial of Felix to get her to finally go out on a date with me.” He leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered his voice, “I don’t suppose there’s a chance to win a second vial any time soon?”

“Sadly, no,” Slughorn shook his head. “I’m all out and won’t have the time to brew so delicate a potion until summer break.”

“How disappointing,” James said and raised his glass of cognac to swirl it in the light.

Slughorn watch the copper drink dance with the facets of the cut glass and wet his lips. “You might try talking the winners into letting you sip their luck. Miss Gosset, the Ravenclaw…”

“She’s used hers already,” James shook his head.

“Severus Snape, then? He won in his class,” Slughorn suggested.

“Severus?” A wicked grin spread across his face; Slughorn mistook it for a hopeful look and nodded encouragingly at the boy. James stayed and chatted with Slughorn for some time, all the while he was imagining how he would deprive Snivellus of his vial of luck.

oOo

Peter had finally re-joined them that evening after spending the day with the heroic Gryffindor Quidditch team. They didn’t think it odd that he would opt for the victory party over Remus’ self-pity and Sirius’s last minute homework completion; he always went with the victors to party, unless it was Slytherin. The boy was still slightly drunk on firewhiskey and admiration when James came back.

“How did it go?” Sirius asked.

“Good,” James said, but paused and asked the question that had been nagging at him for the last hour. “Did I always sound like such a prat when I talked about myself all the time?”

“Yes,” Sirius and Remus chorused.

“Right, was afraid of that,” James accepted. “Slughorn has no more luck, the Ravenclaw used hers so that leaves the Slytherin.”

“Oh, let me guess who won,” Sirius paused with mock deliberation. “Could it be _Snivellus_?”

James grinned.

“This is going to be fun,” Peter clapped his hands and his eyes grew wide with anticipation of the humiliation to come.

“You’re assuming he hasn’t used it already,” Remus pointed out.

“Oh, he’s still got it,” James said with absolute certainty.

“You know this how?”

James shrugged, not at all afraid to admit his more cunning and duplicitous side to his dearest friends. “I know what he’d use it for–the same thing I would if I wasn’t stealing it for you–to win Evans. That greasy little git’s totally in love with her,” James said. “She’s not talking to him, so he hasn’t used it yet.”

“What is it about that ginger?” Sirius pondered. “Must be her skin; she’s got nice skin.”

“Don’t you talk about my future wife’s skin,” James warned and threw his Charms book across the room at him.

Sirius couldn’t dodge the perfectly aimed book, but he did catch it. He held his hands up in surrender. “Fine, no talk of her lovely, soft, delicate white skin. So how are you going to take it from him? He’s more paranoid than anyone, especially of you. He’s probably got more wards on his trunk than the whole Gryffindor tower combined.”

James had considered that in his time chatting with Professor Slughorn. What they needed was information, and the easiest was to get information was to spy. “Mr Wormtail,” James turned and addressed his friend formally. “Might I request the use of your unique talents?”

“Of course, Mr Prongs,” Peter responded as stiffly as a royal valet. “What do you require of me, sir?”

“The Slytherin dorm’s password,” James said, “the location of Snivellus’s room and how many wards he has on his personal affects.”

“Is that all? I expected a challenge!” Peter clicked his heels, saluted and marched from the room.

James fell onto his bed and massaged his ankle, still sore from where he fell. It had taken more effort to keep up appearances in front of Slughorn than it had playing humble for Lily. He considered the pain worth it to keep the luck from being used against her. His stomach turned at the idea of Lily Evans hanging off of the greasy git’s arm, kissing him and letting him touch her beautiful face.

“She does have nice skin, doesn’t she?” James smiled.

“I’m not permitted to consider the fairness, texture or pleasantness of any feature of your future wife,” Sirius reminded him.


	33. Low Life

As a rodent, Peter easily hid in the shadows opposite the Slytherin entrance. The password, ‘Dark Lord,’ was spoken by a dark and surly fourth year girl, whom he followed through the open doorway and into the impressive and luxurious, though overpoweringly sinister, common room. He had never come to the Slytherin dorms, mainly out of fear, and he had to hide beneath the leather sofa until he saw a group of boys go through an ornate doorway to their dorms. He clung to the shadows and tailed them.

He searched each bedroom for signs of Snivellus. Every room was full of carved wood and stone, luxurious fabrics and elaborate tapestries. The whole dorm spoke to elegance and superiority. It was no wonder even the nicest child turned into an elitist by his seventh year. This place was everything that the Gryffindor dorms were not, just as Slytherins were everything opposite to Gryffindors.

Snape emerged from a side door, presumably the washroom, and crossed the hallway into a bedroom. Peter shadowed him, scurrying under a bed to watch him. The Slytherin sat and hunched over a schoolbook, his shoulders rounded and the knobs of his spine poking through his night shirt. Peter heard the quill scratching on the pages of the book as Snivellus modified the potions directions. He sat there for an hour, so long that Peter started dozing.

The ground shook around him. Peter squeaked and hurried to the far end of the bed under which he was hiding. He saw large feet stomping around the bed. Snivellus was still at his desk writing, but glanced up and nodded an acknowledgement of the new arrival.

“You spending your Saturday night alone again, Severus?” the other boy asked, his voice sounded like a shout to Peter’s tiny ear drums.

“I have work to do,” Snape replied smoothly.

“You need to _work_ at getting yourself a girl, mate.”

“Already have one lined up.” Peter could hear the greasy smile on his face.

“Who’s that, then?”

“Evans.”

“The Mudblood?” the boy snorted. “Find yourself a pureblood.”

“I didn’t say I planned on marrying the Mudblood,” Severus bit out the word.

“I understand,” the boy laughed. “Desire is a powerful thing, even when it’s directed at something so filthy. Good luck.”

“I already have it,” Severus smiled. “I have Felix Felicis.”

“Very cunning; she hasn’t got a chance,” again he laughed. “I almost feel sorry for the thing.”

“Don’t,” Severus replied silkily.

The earth-shaking footsteps began again as the second Slytherin left. Snape mumbled to himself, but all Peter could make out were ‘Lily’ and ‘Mudblood.’ He assumed it was Snivellus describing to himself what he intended to do to the girl, which he would have liked to hear. With carefully places paws, he inched closer to Snape, who no longer seemed that interested in his textbook.

“Damn Potter!” he snapped. “Acting all humble just to win her. And she can’t even see through it! I have to use it tomorrow.”

He stood so abruptly his chair couldn’t keep up with the movement and it toppled backward. Snape didn’t bother to right it. He crossed the room to his trunk, and waved his wand one, two, three, four, five, six, seven times over it to remove the wards. Peter wondered what it must be like to live in a dorm that required him to protect his belongings so rigorously; James and Sirius didn’t even bother closing their trunks half the time. Although, to be fair, the reason they left their trunks unguarded was to be able to claim that any contraband wasn’t actually theirs and that anyone in the whole tower might have put it in their trunks while they weren’t looking.

With the wards removed, Snape turned three keys in four locks and opened the lid. He reached in until his shoulders disappeared and found what he sought, a dirty sock. Inside the sock, black with dirt and reeking from being unwashed for so long, was a small vial of Liquid Luck. With it he would win back what was most precious to him.

He held it to his chest and glanced jealously over his shoulder at the open door. With a flick of the wand, it slammed shut and locked with an ominous click. Snape stood and turned his back to where Peter hid. The rat scurried forward for a better view, but it was no good; to see he would have to reveal himself. He had to guess at what Snape was doing. The boy was rummaging in his wardrobe now, likely digging for his most presentable black robes. Once he found it and set it aside to wear the next day, he placed the sock back in his trunk, closed, locked and warded it with seven protective spells.

Dark Lord, right door, three levels down, fourth door on the left, third bed from the door, seven wards, four locks, three keys, minging old sock, and they had to get through it all before tomorrow. Piece of cake, thought Peter, once I get the information to them.

While Snape’s back was turned, the rat darted out from beneath the bed and ran across the open floor and put his nose and whiskers to the gap under the door. It was a sliver, barely high enough for one of his paws. There was no way he would be squeezing his body through the gap, even his relatively small rat body.

He ran along the wall, searching for a hole or a gap or a vent, but there was nothing. The Slytherin dorms were sealed tight, painstakingly secured to keep any intruder out, or, as in this particular case, to keep the intruder in. There was nothing for it but to wait until someone opened the door.

Snape smoothed the clothes he intended to wear the next day before locking them inside the wardrobe. He climbed onto the hard mattress and closed the green curtains. Peter watched anxiously as the curtains shifted and finally stilled. Then the rodent waited, low to the ground, and listened for the sound of snoring. He knew with a nose that large it was inevitable that Snivellus would snore as loud as the Hogwarts Express, and he was not disappointed. There was no mistaking that Snape was asleep, not with that sound filling the room.

Peter lay down beneath the bed nearest the door and waited, his tiny black eyes fixed on the door handle, which was in the form of a snake. It chilled the primitive animal part of his brain to see the metal cast into such a realistic snake, complete with glinting green eyes. He never noticed the shape the handles of the Gryffindor tower took, perhaps none at all. He watched the green eyes of the snake handle, waiting for movement. The flickering candles played in the jewels, making a hypnotising display that lulled Peter to sleep.

oOo

The rat squeaked awake, startled and frightened by the deafening sound of the door slamming shut. The candles were extinguished and the sun was shining through the high windows. It was morning. He had slept through the night. The snoring had stopped, too. He scampered around to where he could see Snape’s bed; the curtains were thrown back and the bed was left unmade. The door to the wardrobe was wide open, and the black robes he had intended to wear were gone.

A growl drew another squeak from him.

“What the hell have you been doing?” Sirius snapped at the frightened rodent.

“I got locked in. These Slytherins are more paranoid than I thought, there’s not even enough space for a rat to sneak around this place!” Peter defended himself as soon as he had mouth and vocal chords capable of speech.

Sirius waved away his excuses as he dropped the invisibility cloak. “Did you find it?”

“It was there,” he pointed. “There are seven wards.”

Sirius pulled out his wand and started on the trunk. His usually cocky grin was pulled down in concentration. Snape was suspicious and his wards were for more complex than any of the ones he usually cracked. It took ten minutes to remove just one of the wards. The rest only seemed to get harder after that. He frowned and furrowed his brow, slick with sweat, as the final ward put up quite a fight. He was swearing under his breath as the magical guard was fighting back and beginning to cause him physical pain.

“Dammit, I hate that git,” Sirius declared when the final ward gave way and fell. He waved his wand and the locks fell away, easy after the wards.

“There’s a sock,” Peter began reaching deep into the trunk, trying to find the disgusting old piece of clothing. “Got it!”

“Oh, that’s minging!” Sirius turned his face away.

“Wait, this isn’t right.” Peter felt the sock with his pudgy fingers; the fabric yielded, soft if slightly crusty under his touch. There was nothing solid hiding in the fabric. He dove back into the trunk, but couldn’t find another sock like it. “It’s gone. It’s not here. He took it with him.”

“I hate that git,” Sirius repeated with a snarl that marred his handsome face, but he calmed himself quickly. “Oh, well, we’ll have to get it another day. In the meantime, since we’re here we might as well–“

“No!” Peter said urgently. “He said he was going to use it _today_!”

“Shit!” Sirius reached into his pocket and pulled out the two-way mirror. “James!” The mirror showed only his face for a second then the familiar bespectacled hazel eyes of James Potter appeared in the glass.

“Have you found Wormtail?”

“Yeah, but the vial’s gone. Snivellus has it, plans to use it today. Stall him.”

James nodded and shoved the mirror back in his bag, disappearing from the surface of Sirius’s mirror. Sirius cracked the door open. Peter changed into a rat and ran back the way he had come the previous night. Sirius pulled the invisibility cloak back on and disappeared from sight. He went up the stairs to the common room.

There was a time limit to this mission, he knew, but he had to take a moment to look around. His whole family was Slytherin from his sibling to his cousins to his great-grand father. His mother had disowned him for breaking with tradition, for being a Gryffindor and open-minded about the origins of witches and wizards. If she had her way, this would have been his House. The common room was large and lavish, but still managed to feel like a dungeon. The furniture looked ancient and yet untouched, like expensive furniture that was kept only for when important company came round; a far cry from the soft and threadbare armchairs that everyone fought over in Gryffindor Tower, old and overused and loved. He hated the idea that the chairs would one day have to be replaced. If he had asked Mione, he would have known that they would forever remain in that state of comfort and wear.

He was glad this wasn’t his house. This was not a place that he could throw himself down and be absolutely comfortable and at home. Looking at the students there now, it seemed they felt the same. Not one of them looked completely relaxed, even those who lounged on the leather furniture; they all held something in reserve, no doubt afraid that anything they revealed would be used against them.

Sirius turned away from it and went to the exit, eager to escape.

He waited until he was well clear of the Slytherin dorm and the lower levels before he pulled off the cloak and stowed it in his bag. He took off at a run, passing Peter, who was gasping for breath after trying, himself, to run, and burst into the entrance hall to see James and Remus blocking Snivellus’s path.

“Ah, Snivellus,” he called. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Snape was so livid the only thing he could manage to say was “Filth.”

“I’ve seen your room, Snivelly, you shouldn’t go talking about other people’s filth,” Sirius smirked.

“James,” Remus said quietly. “I think you might want to go sit down. Evans will be down soon.”

Snape’s nostrils flared and he shouted curses at them. This was going to be his lucky day, the day he won Lily back as a friend and as a girlfriend. The only reason he worked so hard to win the Felix Felicis was for this day, and they chose this day to block his entry, to make James Potter look innocent. He spat at them. He would have cursed them, but his arms were bound by magic and his wand was on the floor.

“Padfoot, would you be so kind as to Accio the Liquid Luck?” Remus asked. “My promise forbids me from doing it myself.”

“Accio vial!” Sirius pointed his wand at Snape. The delicate glass vessel flew free of his pocket and landed lightly in Sirius’s hand. “All that effort for this?”

“It will be worth it,” Remus assured him.

Mary Macdonald came skipping into the entrance hall, still giddy from her date the night before. Lily followed at a more subdued pace. Her eyes fell on the scene that had caught the attention of so many other passers-by. Severus, clearly restrained by magic, and James’s friends looking on with smirks on their faces, even Remus was smirking. Anyone with a brain knew what was happening, but she turned and left them to bully her old friend. She marched into the Great Hall and stopped dead. James Potter was sitting on the Hufflepuff bench talking to Mione Garnier.

“—use the basic Latin name of any animal and I can make it appear?” he was asking.

“Yes, as with Avis, which we learned will cause a flock of birds to appear from the tip of your wand, Apis will create a swarm of bees. Apis is Latin for bee,” Mione explained.

“How would I make a cete of angry badgers?” he joked.

“By insulting our hard work!” Una joined in with a laugh.

Lily covered her mouth to keep from showing her smile. It was strange. James was usually the one bullying Severus, but his friends were clearly acting without his knowledge. Mione, she knew, was against such behaviour and would never agree to be his alibi.

“Sorry about that Evans,” Sirius said as he walked past. “Snivelly was calling you names again.”

Remus just shrugged and said nothing. 


	34. Half Moons

Euphoria. That was the word for it, James was certain. He had not felt it since he flew so high on a broom that he grew lightheaded from lack of oxygen. His vision blurred with that same heady giddiness as it had that day, though his feet were firmly on the ground. Lily was sitting next to him without prompting or persuasion. She wasn’t talking to him, true, but she was there. She was so close to him that their arms were touching, her gorgeous hair brushed the exposed skin of his forearm when she turned to talk to Mary.

Sirius smirked at the grin plastered on his friend’s face. Girls, they were a magic unto themselves. Perhaps he should consider getting one himself. Seeing the transformation Mione made in Remus and the lengths to which James would go to win Lily, he suspected they were well worth the effort.

“What’s that look about?” Remus asked.

“Contemplating getting a girlfriend,” he replied.

“It’s about time. We were starting to wonder about you.”

“I am a wonder, aren’t I?”

“Well, you’ve certainly got no shortage of admirers,” Remus said. From where he sat he could count twenty girls staring at the black-haired Gryffindor with desperate hope… and four boys. Every year Sirius received the most Valentine’s Day candy, most of it laced with love potions of varying potency. Remus learned in their third year not look twice at it, much as he hated to waste anything; after spending a week infatuated with a girl whose name he hadn’t even known before eating the chocolates she had sent to Sirius, Remus decided to let the gifts go straight into the bin.

“Not one of _them_ ,” Sirius snorted. “I need someone like Mione or Evans. Someone that doesn’t want to talk to me. They seem to be the ones worth having.”

Remus’s eyebrows knit together as he considered the absurdity of Sirius’s statement. “I don’t think there’s a girl at Hogwarts that doesn’t want to talk to you.” He really did not want to swell his head any further, but he was looking for something that didn’t exist.

“I’m sure there’s one somewhere. I just have to start paying attention,” Sirius grinned. Remus heard the longing sighs from those admirers nearby and shook his head; if they weren’t so addled by the boy’s face, the girls might have been smart enough to ignore him. “So, when do we gift Mione?”

“Not yet,” Remus said, his voice lowering. “She’s smart enough to figure out what happened. If we give her too much time, she’ll give it back to him instead of using it to keep from getting blown up.”

Sirius dropped his playful look and stared, open-mouthed across at Remus. “Blown up?”

“There’s a slight chance that the potion will explode when she casts the spell on it,” Remus waved his hand as if this was nothing special, “which is why I want her to have the Luck.”

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” Sirius said numbly, dumbstruck by how casually all this rolled off his friend’s tongue. Perhaps being a werewolf made him more accepting of barking ideas.

“You keep it safe for me.”

After breakfast, Sirius wrapped the vial in his plushest jumper and placed it in his trunk. He locked it for the first time in years and cast so many wards it would take Dumbledore himself to get the thing open. There was no way Snivellus would be retrieving his lost Luck. “Solid as a Sickle,” he declared.

“Brilliant,” Remus smiled. “I’ll give it to her at the end of the month. Her potion will be ready on the second of March.”

“That soon? That’s not even four weeks, Moony,” James said. “How much longer after that before she has everything she needs?”

Remus sat on his bed toying with his tie. Sirius and James could make out the slightly depressive air in his posture, and hoped he wasn’t going to stop eating again. “Not long,” Remus said. “She needs an hour of minutes to build the hourglass and another hour of minutes to fill it. Assuming the Felix Felicis works and she gets it all perfect the first try, she’ll be able to leave that night.”

“What will you do?” James asked uneasily, afraid to send his friend into fits of depression before the girl even left.

Remus considered the question for so long that James wondered if maybe he had not heard it. When the boy finally spoke, it was not in the sad tone he had expected but in one of honest contemplation, “I don’t know,” he said, then brightened a bit. “But I’m going to make the most of the time I have left.”

“Perhaps she won’t be the only one to get lucky,” Sirius suggested, with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrow.

“Git.”

oOo

The time Remus had left began passing at an alarming rate. Despite her intentions of returning to the exact moment of her departure from 1996, Mione still continued to study with tiring diligence. She forced extra books on him every trip to the library, insisting that he knew all about the topic of any given book when he was her teacher and that he should start learning now. While he enjoyed knowing how much of an impression he would make on her, it was time Remus wished she would spend kissing him. He found it quite odd that he was angry with himself for distracting her from him.

Classes were little better. They sat next to one another again, but she didn’t look at him once the teachers began speaking. By Thursday’s Charms class she had accepted him keeping a hand on her leg throughout the class. She had been quite flustered when he tried in Monday’s Runes class, only slightly annoyed in Wednesday’s Defence Against the Dark Arts class, but on Thursday she leaned into him when his palm slid from his knee to hers. It was proximity that transferred into the rest of their time together, too. She held his hand when they walked and pressed her hip and leg against his when they sat together in the library.

Hermione took an hour of every day to visit her potion and practice the wand work for her charms–the shield charm and the potentially-volatile crystallisation charm. She had several new temporal bubbles ready for the granules, though it would still be over two weeks before she needed them.

Remus watched the tadpoles in the old jar swim merrily along, oblivious to the fact that they ought to be fully formed frogs by now. “I feel sorry for them,” he said. “They should to be out in the world growing and living and making more tadpoles.”

She wrapped her arms consolingly around him, pressing herself into his back. “We can release them, if it will make you feel better.”

“I already feel better,” he smiled, luxuriating in the feel of her body against his through the silk and cotton of their clothes.

His eyes fell from the jar to the calendar spell-o-taped to the wall. There were class assignments and important checkpoints for her potion marked, but one date that was vital to most teenage girls had been skipped over entirely. St Valentine’s Day was blank, devoid of any note about assignments or her experiment. Had she left it blank on purpose for him to fill the day with something special? Or was it simply that there had been nothing vital to record on that date?

Hermione being his first girlfriend, he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. She did not seem quite like regular girls of her age, but that didn’t mean she was above some flower and chocolates.

“Valentine’s Day is this Tuesday,” he said causally. “I thought you might like to do something.”

“We always do something Tuesday,” she said. Although ‘always’ had only consisted of this past week when they spent the afternoon together and ate dinner at the same table in the Great Hall.

“Something special,” he corrected. “It will be the only Valentine’s Day we have.”

“That’s true, but we have Herbology in the afternoon and I’ll have to check on my potion immediately afterwards.”

“Dinner, then,” he suggested. “I will meet you here an hour after Herbology.”

“All right.”

After a pause, Remus asked. “Can we ask the Room of Requirement for a different room without disrupting your potion?”

“Yes,” she said. “Remember you required to see my childhood bedroom? Why do you ask?”

“Well, I saw your childhood room, I thought you might like to see mine,” he shrugged. “Later, though.”

“It should be fine,” she assured him.

He turned in her arms and wrapped his own arms around her, holding her close and tight. She was his if only for a few more weeks. He wanted her to stay with him, but he knew she couldn’t. What she had told him confirmed what Dumbledore had said, she was far too dangerous a creature to live among them. What she knew about the future, if discovered by the wrong people, could bring Voldemort to absolute power over the wizarding and Muggle worlds.

They kissed away the afternoon. His hands wandered and she giggled into his mouth when he slid his long fingers up her thigh and grazed her bottom or dared to feel a breast through her dress. Things never got as far as they had that December when he was under the effects of the full moon. He was too afraid of offending her, even knowing she wanted more. She constantly reminded him of their future as teacher and student; it was hard for him not to think that she saw him in that respect even as she kissed him.

This concern left him as they parted that evening.

Mione, giddy on the success of her potion and the Ogden’s Sirius had passed her at dinner in celebration, pushed Remus into the solid stone wall and tore into him, digging her nails into his chest in her rush to climb his body and reach his mouth. Her petite hips moved in hard circles against him, making him groan with the heat of his body’s reaction.

“Mione,” he breathed, “Stop. We’re in the middle of the corridor, anyone might see.”

“Dammit, you never finish what you start,” she whined and pushed away from him. The fact that she had started this particular encounter didn’t seem to matter. She left him leaning on the stone wall, his shirt ripped open and his mouth coated in her lipstick. The painted wood nymphs on the wall opposite giggled and winked at him.

Remus straightened himself as best he could, in case he ran into a professor or fellow Prefect, and ran after her. She was gone, disappeared into the cellars and the Hufflepuff dormitory. There was nothing for it but to return to his own dorm.

“Will you look at the state of this boy?” James whistled when Remus walked slowly into their room. The Chaser ran up and examined him with his keen eyes. He noted the lipstick, the love bites on his neck, the shirt open to his waist with every button missing and, most vital, the bloody half-moons where Mione had dug into his already scarred chest. “Someone had a good night.”

“Not really,” Remus muttered and threw the shirt off. The house-elves would wash and repair it for him tomorrow.

“Your appearance would suggest otherwise, Mr Moony,” James said. “Do tell!”

“Ogden’s worked, I take it?” Sirius smiled and came to examine the bloody half-moons.

“Yes,” Remus said, sounding rather put out.

Sirius didn’t have a girlfriend, true, but he could not see how being attacked by the girl he liked would annoy him so much. Sirius reacted in the only way he knew. He shoved his friend playfully and made fun of him. “Then why are you such a miserable bastard? Was she too much for you? Are future girls more demanding? Could you not perfor—”

Remus threw a hex at him, locking his mouth shut mid-gibe. Sirius did not appreciate this and made his displeasure known with a fist to Remus’s arm. The scuffle that followed was harsher than their normal fights; Remus had a considerable amount of pent-up frustration to vent in some form and kicking Sirius’s arse seemed as good a method as any. It ended only when James petrified them both.

“If you are both quite finished acting like imbeciles,” he said, sounding more like a prefect than anything else. He released Remus, leaving Sirius to sit motionless on the floor. He would have no choice but to listen without comment. “So the firewhiskey worked.”

“Obviously,” Remus said with a gesture to his appearance.

“Sirius has a point, then,” James said, his hands raised in surrender when the werewolf turned on him. “If Lily did that to me, I would not be upset. So I don’t get why you are.”

“She attacked me out in the open and got angry when I pointed it out. Said I never finish what I start and left,” Remus grumbled as he wiped his face clean. He saw Sirius’s eyes dancing excitedly in his petrified head. “Oh, let him up before he wets himself.”

“Really, Moony, torturing the poor girl like that, and after she’s confessed how _fond_ she is of you,” Sirius chided with a grin the second James flicked his wand at him.

Remus had his wand ready to hex him again, but held back.

“I hate to make this about me,” Sirius said, earning a snort from James and Remus, “but you are the only one of us currently in the running to have any real fun on Valentine’s Day.”

“Oi!” James threw a punch at him. “I am making considerable progress.”

“I’ve got a date,” Peter added happily.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to know what you and what’s-her-name get up to,” Sirius said flatly, then turned his merry eyes on Remus. “Mione, however, is so hot.”

Remus raised his wand and quirked an eyebrow at him. “She may not be my future wife, but you aren’t permitted to talk about her hotness.”

“Still, I’m forced to live vicariously through you,” Sirius said, happy that his friend was regaining some of his humour. “If it were me, I’d be giving the girl what she wants for Valentine’s Day.”

 

 


	35. Special Day

The Hogwarts owls were flying nonstop from the start of breakfast, their silent wings making the warm Great Hall cold from all their movements around the room. Letters and packages dropped to the table before many students but none received as many as Sirius Black, arguably the handsomest boy in school.

Valentine’s Day was his least favourite day of the year. He had read once that it was customary in Japan for men to return the favour by giving gifts to the girls who had given them chocolates; the idea of finding appropriate gifts for so many hurt his brain and he was very glad to live in England and not that other island nation.

“Oi, kid,” he called a first year over. The tiny Gryffindor stared up at him, terrified at what he could want. “I’ll give you a free pass to Honeydukes if you grab a friend and take all this back to the common room for me.”

The girl nodded enthusiastically and ran to find a friend from the other end of the long table. She returned with a boy that looked, to him, rather like Remus. They filled their arms and bags with the gifts and letters and made to leave.

Sirius blocked their way, tall, broad and intimidating. “If you so much as think of taking a single chocolate, you will regret it.”

“A Galleon says the boy steals a box,” James laid the coin on the table.

“Nah, the girl,” Peter said and put his money down. “You could see it in her face.”

“Moony, what do you think?” James turned to him.

Remus wasn’t listening to them, but was staring up at the birds as they flew past. He was not expecting anything from any secret admirers nor from Mione as they had already made plans for dinner. He was still considering what would happen that night. Sirius, whom he had already decided gave the worst advice in the history of the world, advised him to stop being such a coward and take the plunge, literally. James, who was strangely becoming more responsible, suggested he discuss it with the girl instead of making assumptions; Lily’s continued attentions were having quite the effect on the Gryffindor Chaser.

“What are you two doing for Valentine’s?” James asked.

“Dinner,” Remus muttered still looking skyward.

“It’s useless trying to talk to him, Prongs. He’s clearly been stupefied,” Sirius shook his head. “Ah, here they come!”

The two first years came running back into the Great Hall. The boy hurried up to him, smiling with satisfaction and anticipation of the fabled Honeydukes. He had heard of it, seen the candy the third years brought back with them and yearned to be old enough to tag along. He turned to say something to his friend, but she was gone. She was walking purposefully across the hall to the Ravenclaw table, up to a fifth year girl.

“Lyra!” The little first year said, “I love you! I can’t live without you.”

“Every year,” Sirius sighed.

“I believe I win this bet,” Peter took the coins from the table while the first year struggled to get his friend away from the Ravenclaw.

“Shame about the chocolates,” Remus said distractedly.

“Class,” Sirius declared, eager to distance himself from the potty girls and their potions.

Despite the excessive number of packages and the chatter, it was just another Tuesday as far as the teachers were concerned and Sirius was glad of it. Valentine’s Days that fell on the weekend were his worst fear, and he had spent the last ones hiding in the lowest levels of the castle while Gryffindor Tower was besieged by owls and admirers. At least with classes they would be forced to look at something other than him; the unicorns in Care of Magical Creatures would certainly distract the girls.

Lunch was awkward, as it always was on this particular holiday. Sirius sat, his eyes firmly locked onto his place setting. He spoke only to his friends and refused to look up when doing so. The admirers stared hard at him, watched and walked past and whispered to him. If he had eaten their chocolates or touched their letters tainted with love draughts, he would have reacted to their presence, risen from his seat and fallen to his knees before them.

He hated Saint Valentine and thought the git deserved to have his head cut off.

In Herbology, he hid among his friends, and was grateful for Mione, who glared daggers at any of the Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors who shirked their classwork to try talking to him, Una and Pamela notwithstanding. They sighed and giggled, but he was assured that they weren’t the sort to try winning him by magic.

“Are you planning on potting that Dragongrass? Or did you want it to wither and die while you stare at people?” Mione asked a nearby Hufflepuff in a very loud and crisp voice.

The admonished girl squeaked and looked away as Madam Sprout came near, drawn by Mione’s admonitions. The rest of class was a lot easier for him after everyone realised that the Beauxbatons girl would not overlook their distractedness.

“Mione,” Sirius said solemnly as they washed their hands free of dirt. “You are the best prefect in the history of Hogwarts!” He reached out and pulled her into a hug, lifting her off the ground with his excitement and appreciation.

“Oi!” Remus called.

“Sorry,” Sirius said quickly, stepping back and holding his hands up. “Please do not rip my lungs out.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mione said, looking slightly worried and more than a little confused.

“Ignore him, he’s a prat,” James said and waved away the dirt and water Sirius had left on her jacket.

“No, I am expressing my gratitude,” Sirius insisted. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” Mione said, so confused that it sounded more like a question.

Remus pointed at the sly grin on his friend’s face. “She meant the rescue, not the hug. No hugging.”

“Right, no touching allowed,” Sirius said, trying hard to force the corners of his mouth back down. “Understood, Mr Moony, sir.”

“Git,” Remus muttered and turned away from him. Mione was biting her lip to keep from grinning; she did that a lot when the Marauders started on one another. He suspected it had to do with Harry and her ginger friend, Ron, but had never asked. “You need to check on your potion?”

She nodded, not able to speak without laughing.

“I’ll meet you in an hour for dinner,” he promised.

Mione nodded again and left. As the door closed behind her, they could hear her laughing loudly and happily at their nonsense.

“I like her laugh,” Sirius commented. He got a kick in the backside for it. “Ow! Oi! I’m allowed to like how people laugh!”

“No, you’re not,” Remus said.                                   

“Git. So you’re meeting in an hour for dinner?” Sirius changed the subject. “What will you do _after_ dinner?”

“I don’t know yet,” Remus said again wearily. He had been saying it to Sirius’ sly winks and randy comments since Friday. Remus had decided that he needed to learn healing and cleaning charms so that he could return to their dorm room looking like nothing happened between him and Mione. It would save him so much aggravation.

“Well, you’d better figure it out soon...”

“Or you’ll step in and do it for me?” Remus asked incredulously. Sirius had not made such a ridiculous threat since December; he had a hard time believing the boy still thought he had a shot.

“No, although I do like that idea,” Sirius said with a smirk. “I was going to say you’d better figure it out before she decided for you. We’ve all seen what she does when she’s not getting the attention she wants.” He pulled at Remus’s jumper and looked down his shirt at the half-moons that had only just healed.

The werewolf slapped his hands away and fixed his clothes. “I’ve had quite enough advice from you, Padfoot. Go eat some chocolates and get your own damn girlfriend.”

He forged his own path up the hill to the castle, leaving Sirius to smile. He liked Remus with a girlfriend. Remus with a girlfriend was fun to annoy. He had a strong sense of accomplishment watching his friend march into the castle’s grand entrance ahead of them. Remus had heard him, and he was certainly planning the rest of his romantic evening rather than leaving it to chance and Mione’s whims.

oOo

Remus wanted to plan. He really did. The trouble with planning, Remus found, was that things rarely cooperated with what he had decided would happen. He could plan for an evening watching the romantic stars, and it would inevitably be overcast. His perfect dinner would result in the discovery of a new allergy. Planning could only lead to disappointment.

He much preferred to let everything happen as it ought to happen, naturally and at its proper pace.

He considered this as he approached the Room of Requirement, the door open and the smell of Mione’s rancid potion spilling into the hallway. This was a prime example of plans going horribly wrong; he had brought flowers, but in the presence of the noxious fumes they were wilting and discolouring.

Mione hurried into the corridor and slammed the door shut behind her. The bubble of air popped around her head and she wrinkled her nose at the lingering stench of her potion.

“It’s gotten so much worse,” she coughed and waved her hand before her face with little effect.

“I noticed,” he held up the devastated flowers. “I’m told it’s the thought that counts.”

She smiled and took the flowers as if they were perfect and unspoiled. “Where are we going to dinner?”

“Here,” he said and pulled her away from the door. Three quick paces and he opened the door. “Ladies first.”

“Thank you,” she smiled and stepped through.

Her laboratory and its foul contents were gone. In their place was a small kitchen. A round table covered in a pale yellow cloth with a small vase of vibrant purple flowers at the centre sat beneath a wide window with a view of a flowering garden filled with busy honeybees and flitting butterflies. The old whitewashed stucco walls were crumbling slightly, but the whole place felt lived-in and loved.

“What is this?”

“My great-grandmother’s kitchen,” he said and walked ahead to the table. He pulled out a chair and waited for her to sit.

“Where?” she sat down and was torn between looking him and looking at the garden.

“France,” he smirked.

“But of course,” she nodded. Her eyes drifted over his shoulder to the other half of the kitchen, where a heavy iron oven looked positively medieval. “Can you cook?”

He ducked his head. “Ah, that’s where I’m cheating a bit,” he admitted. “I made arrangements with the kitchen. Believe me, you do not want to taste my cooking.”

“I believe you,” she smiled.

She likes it, he sighed. She isn’t angry or disappointed. She likes my plan, my kitchen.

His relief continued as dinner appeared on a remarkable facsimile to his great-grandmother’s favourite china dishes. Mione did not choke on the food or sneer at his choice of wine and no new food allergies were discovered. She was sad that they could not actually leave the kitchen to visit the garden, but the Room of Requirement had its limits, magic though it was. Her remedy for the Rooms deficiencies was quite to Remus’s liking; she pulled her chair around to sit beside him, laced her fingers into his and lay her head on his shoulder while he told her of his visits to the real Lupin farmhouse. She sat so still and quiet, he thought she was asleep.

“What on earth?” he said quietly.

“Hm?” She looked up at him.

Had she looked up a moment earlier, she would have been looking into his loving blue eyes, but he was looking away now, looking at a door as worn and battered as the one that led to the garden. Remus knew this house like it was his own and that door did not belong. It had not been there seconds before.

“Where did that door come from?” Remus asked, worried. This was not part of his plan.

He stood and went to it, still holding firm to Mione’s hand. His long fingers brushed the wooden door. Some of the paint flaked away under his touch revealing older layers beneath; it felt like any other door in the cottage, but that did not mean it should be there. Concerned about what the sudden appearance meant, he turned the handle and pushed it open. It was just another room, small and comfortable as the kitchen was. It overlooked the same garden and was filled with the same warm light, but where the other room had table and chairs and an ancient oven and battered wooden counters, this room had a bed, large and soft. He couldn’t see past it to notice any of the other furniture, the bed occupied his whole brain.

He rushed to shut the door, terrified that she would think he made the door and room and bed appear on purpose. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice and breathing suddenly ragged. “I did not make that happen. I swear.”

“I know,” Mione said. “I did.”

“You wanted a bedroom?”

“I want you to finish what you started,” she said, slow and seductive. She leaned into him, pressed her body against his as she reached around and turned the handle. Without the door to hold him, he stumbled back and fell onto the bed, enormous in the tiny room.

“I remember,” he swallowed hard as she climbed on top of him and started attacking the buttons of his shirt. “I didn’t want to push…thought it would pass.”

“You said you couldn’t sleep at night you wanted me so badly,” she smirked. “Well, I wake up every night dreaming of you and your clever fingers.” She stopped working his buttons and lifted his hand in hers. Her light eyes examined the slender digits while her own fingers caressed them lovingly. “It hasn’t passed,” she assured him.

“Oh.” It was all he could think to say. She was back at his shirt, pulling the fabric off his chest and shoulders.

“Are you going to help, or do I have to resort to magic?” she chided.

“If you’re determined,” he said quietly, still awed that she wanted him, and pulled himself up enough to tug the shirt off his arms. Strange sounds fell from his mouth as she slid her whole body across his, slithering down between his legs and disappearing onto the floor to pull his shoes off his feet. He was curious if she was the sort that thought feet exciting, but found that once his feet were naked she was climbing back on top of him.

Her hands, cool and slightly calloused from thumbing through books and practicing wandwork for hours, caressed his scars, feeling the varying textures they made on his flesh.

“I always found this sexy,” she commented with a lick of her lips. Her fingers pet the dusting of golden brown hair that began at his navel and led her hand down to the waist of his trousers. She pouted that she could not follow the trail to its final destination; Remus did, too. Her attentions were having an immediate effect on him. It was like the full moon was rising, he felt his heart hammering at his ribcage and the heat coursing through his veins. On the full moon, the heat brought with it nothing but pain, and while he was beginning to feel a bit of agony throbbing in his groin it was the most delicious pain he had ever felt.

The tug near his ankles forced him to pay attention and he looked down. She had unbuckled his belt and opened his trousers while he lay in heaven with his eyes closed. He would soon be naked before her while she was still fully dressed. The inequity embarrassed him, but also seemed very unfair. He wanted to see her, to feel her as much as she did him.

Ignoring the discomfort, he sat up and pulled her close. His clever fingers slipped the buttons through the silk and slid the jacket off her. He hung it on the bedpost to keep it from wrinkling. When he turned his eyes back to her, she was standing with her back to him, giving him easy access to the zipper of her dress. He fumbled with the fidgety little metal tab and pulled it down. He watched her skin appear inch by inch, soft and white. His hands moved of their own will, slipping under the silk and caressing her from small to shoulders and freeing her of the dress as they went. She tugged the dress off her arms and let it cascade down her body and to the floor.

Mione stood before him naked. She had been naked under her dress all day and he had no idea. She had planned for this when she put on her clothes that morning. He reached out to pull her close.

“Wait,” she whispered. She put her hand up and waved the wand. Her hair broke free of its bounds and fell around her shoulders in fluffy, honey brown curls. When she looked back over her shoulder, he saw her deep brown eyes sparkling. She was perfect.

An impish smirk crossed her face and she flicked her wand one more time. She glanced down and then back to his face. He looked and saw his pants lying on the ground at his feet.

“You little minx,” he laughed.

“I thought we had wasted enough time.”

“I agree.” He yanked her to him and pressed a kiss to her mouth. His fingers tangled in her bushy hair and he could feel her hands running up his chest to rake into his greying hair.

 

 


	36. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author writes sex for the first time.

There was no way he could be certain, but Remus suspected it was early morning, possibly two o’clock. The view outside the bedroom window had not changed. The bees still buzzed around the garden, landing industriously on every flower. The sun still shined down from a low angle, implying it was late afternoon. But the Room of Requirement had its limits. The sun and garden were mere illusions. It had been late afternoon for hours.

Hermione, her name was Hermione, shifted in the bed, rubbing her face against his chest, her gravity-defying hair tickling his side. She had only just fallen asleep. Remus worried that she might never get enough. He would hate to have to go back and report Sirius right, that future girls really were more demanding, and that he wasn’t able to keep up.

He moved slowly, bringing his arm around her. He lay there, spent but wide awake with nothing to do but toy with her hair, stare at the ceiling and relive the last few hours. Valentine’s Day had not happened exactly according to his plan, but it was certainly one he would remember for the rest of his life. Admittedly, most werewolves did not live long, but the point still held firm.

She and he, they, had been together. Remus knew about sex, had read about it and talked about it, even viewed more than a few Muggle and wizard films of various sex acts, but he couldn’t have predicted how it felt. The glove of her body around him, soft and wet and warm. He had been so unprepared on their first try that he came so soon, too soon. She had looked so disappointed. He wanted nothing more than to lie breathless and boneless, but she was about to cry from frustration. He had awakened her desire and left her wanting for two months; it would have been the ultimate torture to leave her wanting still.

“I remember what you like,” he assured her and ran his hand down her body, tight from anticipation, and into her. She was wet with arousal, and he let his clever fingers play and tease. He watched her face as he worked, watched her bite her lip and furrow her brow and flush as he brought her closer. Her inner muscles constricted his fingers and she moaned, loud and long. As good as his climax had felt, feeling her clenching on his hand, seeing her body rise and writhe, he knew he had missed out on something far better.

When she had let go of his hand, he pulled his fingers out and considered the hot liquid that coated them. Hermione reached out, took his wrist and brought his fingers to her lips. She was still breathless, but took a finger into her mouth, licking and sucking it clean. He couldn’t keep him mind from considering how glorious it would feel if a rather different extremity was receiving such attention. The body part in question twitched at the idea. As she traded one clever finger for another, his member swelled with a new heat. When she took the last finger into her mouth and moaned, he was quite sure he was going to die.

“Gods, Hermione,” he gasped.

She looked at him, his finger still in her mouth, and smiled. Another minute passed as she massaged his fingertip with her tongue, and he knew she would kill him. There was no way he could survive her attentions. She pulled his finger out and brought it to her breast, letting him feel her. “I read a book once,” she smiled, “that said some positions are better than others for girls.”

“I haven’t read any of those,” Remus choked.

“Well, then I’ll show you.” She pulled him back into the bed, forcing him onto his back and kissing him hard. He tasted their juices on her tongue and the agony increased. “You stay there.”

She slid down his body, her way made easier by his hot sweat. He thought he knew what she had planned, but she stopped and paused long enough to give his pained member a quick, playful kiss which made him buck and gasp.

“I said stay,” she giggled and pushed him back down.

He bit back the moans and gasps and curses that threated to spill out of him as she straddled his legs. He held back the laugh that tried to escape when he saw the look of concentration on her face as she positioned herself just right; he could see her reviewing a diagram of the position in a book and correcting her leg or back to be precisely the same, but he couldn’t keep anything back when she pushed herself down onto him.

“Oh, fucking hell,” he gasped and moaned as she started rocking and rotating her hips.

“I like this better,” she said, blushing at the admission, but enjoying the feeling too much to stop her motions.

Remus could only nod his agreement. All his concentration was on not coming too soon. He wanted that feeling on his cock that he had on his fingers of her sex closing tightly around him.

Hermione braced herself on his chest, her fingers digging in as she worked to bring her hips up and down on him. It was more work, but the pleasure was well worth it. He rubbed against her most pleasurable spot with every roll of her hips. The hard gyrations she made into him made her breathless and made him moan. She was close, so much closer than she had been last time. He was rising to meet her, his clever fingers gripping her hips and bruising her flesh, but she didn’t care. She was pushing down as far and as hard as she could, but it wasn’t enough.

“Remus,” she inhaled a ragged breath and lay down on his chest. “I can’t…It’s not enough…”

He rolled over on top of her and started rocking into her, revelling in the tiny cries that she uttered with the fulfilment of each stroke. He had been eager to participate, but she had insisted he stay down. It was glorious being able to give her this. Her fingernails dug into his back and the muscles of her core tightened on him. She was strong, so strong it actually hurt to keep up his movements, but it was a delicious pain like her nails clawing down his back. He wanted to stay like this, climaxing nearly in unison forever without the influence of time or the moon.

Remus didn’t know how long ago that had been. Close to six hours, several hundred kisses and a third joining ago. He closed his eyes and savoured the sensation of her breath on his skin. Sleep came and took him. A dreamless and contented sleep unlike any he had known since he was bitten by the werewolf.

oOo

Hermione was playing with his navel hair again. He could feel the slight tug when she ran her fingers against the hair’s natural direction, but he didn’t mind. If he could, he would run his fingers over every inch of her. It felt only right that she should do the same.

“Are you hungry?” she whispered when she saw the smile on his face.

“Yes.”

“There’s food in the kitchen,” she said, still speaking in a soft voice. Somewhere in her mind she was afraid that it was all a dream and if she spoke too loudly it would wake the dreamer.

“You’ve already been up?” He cracked an eyelid and looked at her, she was wearing his shirt. He would have been devastated if she threw on her own clothes and walked away from him while he slept. He liked that she wrapped herself in a piece of him, like she wanted to be close to him even when they were only a room apart.

“I needed the toilet,” she said and wrinkled her nose like it was embarrassing.

“Now that you mention it,” he slid out of bed and stepped back into his trousers. “Where is the loo here?”

She pointed and watched him hurry away. Is this what every morning would be like? His clothes on her skin and disappointment in his eyes when he found she had parted with him for even a few minutes. It was a pleasant morning after, none of the boasting and strutting she worried might emerge. She slid her fingers over the sheets where he had just been. They were wrinkled and warm and held his smell, a heady and almost sweet aroma. She leapt back from the bed, afraid that he might come out and recoil at the sight of her sniffing his pillow, and went to the kitchen, still lit as if it were late afternoon.

Although, it might well have been late afternoon. The Room provided no clock or any means to measure the time. They had only their stomachs to indicate that quite some time had passed while they slept.

“Do you know what time it is?” Remus asked when he came in and places a kiss on her hair, which had grown even bushier while she slept.

“No, but it has to be at least seven in the morning by now.”

He groaned, though not from pleasure. “Sirius is going to be insufferable.” There is no way that his absence from the dormitory went unnoticed that night; unless by some miracle Sirius accidentally ate a love-laced chocolate and was currently and single-mindedly in love with some crafty Hogwarts student. “Would it be wrong to hex him to keep him talking for a few months?”

Hermione just laughed and spooned jam onto her toast. Then a thought hit her and she panicked, “It’s Wednesday!”

“Yes, probably,” he said, worried by her outburst.

“We have class! Defence Against the Dark Arts, we might be missing it,” she began wringing her hands.

“It’s all right,” he pulled her into a hug. “One class will not destroy my grade; I promise I will still be your favourite DADA teacher. James and Sirius didn’t have plans. They will be there taking notes.”

“But,” she leaned back to look at his face and whispered her fear, “everyone will know.”

“Let them know,” he smiled. It was a kind smile, not one that said he _wanted_ them to know, but one that showed he accepted their knowledge as part and parcel of being with her.

“I still want to know the time,” she insisted quietly.

As with the bedroom the night before, the Room knew what she required and provided it. A small, ancient and battered cuckoo clock appeared on the wall. The gears ground as the hands moved on its face and the hour struck. A bird shot out from small door on the face of clock, a live bird. It flew around the room, announcing the hour with its call. Eight sharp, irritating cries filled their ears and the bird returned to its nest in the clock.

“Eight o’clock,” Remus said. “Plenty of time for breakfast.”

Hermione relaxed and finished spreading the jam on her toast. “I should check my potion before we leave.”

“I think I might go on ahead and leave you to that. The stink turns my stomach,” he said. “My month without eating has made me appreciate having and keeping food in it.”

He meant it as a joke, but she looked down at her plate, an ashamed blush touching her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought it would be for the best.”

“You were right,” he assured her. “I was just too stupid to understand.”

“You’re not stupid,” she muttered and bit into her toast.

“Thank you.”

They didn’t speak any more during breakfast. It was not an awkward silence where neither knew what to say or how to say it after they had rolled around naked the whole night. This was a comfortable silence, where the mere presence of the other was enough to satisfy the eyes and the sound of the other’s breathing was a comfort to the ear.

“We have to hurry,” Hermione said and put their plates in the sink. It was all so real she forgot that they were not going to have to clean up after themselves.

“I’m going to need my shirt back,” he smiled.

“Oh, yes,” she said and ran to the bedroom to collect her clothes. The silk dress smoothed itself with a single charm, her hair and eyes changed with another. She cleansed her body magically; it would work for the morning, but she would have to bath immediately after DADA. A wave of her wand cleaned Remus and his shirt. When he dressed, he looked as crisp and clean as he had when he met her for dinner.

“My bag is still in the laboratory,” she said. “We’ll have to leave for me to retrieve it.”

He nodded and opened the door for her. “I’m going to go back to the tower and grab my notes. I’ll meet you in class.” A kiss, long and soft, served as their goodbye.

He walked away quickly before she could fill the corridor with the smell of her horrid potion. He ran the whole way to the dorm. The common room was a jumbled mess of leftover Valentine’s Day celebrations. Boxes of candy lie around the room along with nearly a hundred cards and love letters. A few students lay on the furniture, having fallen asleep where the landed the night before.

Remus ran up to the room he shared with the other sixth year boys and found two of them sitting on their beds. They were waiting. They were waiting for him.

“Congratulations!” Sirius cracked a party popper at him. An admiral’s hat flew from the end and hit Remus in the chest while the decorative streamers fell on his shoulders. “You’ve become a man! How does it feel?”

“I’d explain, but, being such a child, I don’t think you’d understand,” Remus ducked as Sirius tried the shove the hat on his head.

“He has sex once and he’s suddenly so condescending,” Sirius shook his head in dismay.

“I’m always condescending to you, Padfoot,” Remus said as he grabbed his Hogwarts jumper and robe and threw them on.

“That is true,” James said and cracked another party popper.

“And,” Remus said as he picked up his bag and walked to the door, “it was three times, not one.”

Sirius and James chased after him. James yanked on his arm while Sirius pulled him by the collar; together they dragged him back to their room and shut the door.

“Three?” James said, wide-eyed.

“Well, I didn’t do very well on the first try, so I had to make up for it,” Remus said matter-of-factly. They balked, shocked and amazed that he discussed sex as if it were no different than practicing a charm for class.

“Is there nothing you’re not brilliant at?” Sirius said with awe.

“Apparently not,” Remus grinned and shoved him aside.

“Damn,” James said. Remus was not the boastful sort, he knew. If Remus said he and Mione had done it three times, he meant three times, not like some other blokes who said three when it was really only once. “Wait!”

Remus turned, annoyed. Mione was waiting and they were going to be late. “What?”

“We were waiting for you. Sirius said he needed to talk about something important.”

They turned to Sirius, who had moved past standing with his mouth wide open to leaning back, head cocked to the side in appraisal of his friend. Sirius saw a difference. Remus seemed more confident, which he interpreted to mean Mione had thoroughly enjoyed herself.

“Well?” Remus asked.

“I was thinking about the two of you having sex,” Sirius said, his face completely straight.

James looked at him sideways, deep concern etched into his face.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Remus shifted uncomfortably where he stood.

“Not like that!” Sirius shoved him.

“Like what then?”

Sirius took a deep breath and explained. “She knows who you are—or will be. It’s not like she doesn’t know that you’re going to be her teacher in twenty years and there will be no consequence to your coupling,” he said. He wasn’t smiling and there was no glint of humour I his eye. “I think she’s planning on wiping your memory.”

“What? Why?” Remus said, a slight panic in his voice like he thought it might be happening at that second.

“Think about it. You know her real name, when she’s from, her House, even who her friends are. She’s your first, so she knows you are going to remember her and everything about her,” Sirius said. “If she leaves you here with all that information and the memories of you two together in bed, think about what will happen when little Mione walks into your classroom for the first time…”

Remus’s face fell as he pictured himself as an adult looking on Hermione with her bushy hair, carrying far too many books for a girl her age. Even after that much time, he imagined himself staring at her, wanting to touch her. “Oh, shit.”

“You’d be locked in Azkaban inside a week, guaranteed.”


	37. Gossamer Thread

Defence Against the Dark Arts was the longest class of Remus’s life. He sat in the second row in his usual seat beside Mione. The information went from his ears to his hand and onto his paper without any of it touching his consciousness. His free hand lay on his partner’s thigh, but even that barely registered. He was reliving his time with Mione from September until this morning. Most would think his primary focus would be on the gymnastic events of the previous evening, but that was not the case.

She had been cool at first, offering only reserved conversation. Then in October something changed and she started talking to him openly and warmly, and he began to hope. Hope turned to desire and a flirtation that she had equal part in until December. Then she ignored him, cut him out of her life and literally turned her back on him. It had been for his own good. She wanted to remove herself from his company so that when she left, returned to her own time, he would not feel the sting of it. It hadn’t worked, and she returned to him, filling his life even more completely than she had before. Instead of flirting with word and gesture, they were snogging and making love for hours. It was the opposite of her original plan.

If she expected her departure to be anything less than gut-wrenching, she was an idiot. Which meant, as Sirius said, that she had a plan to remove herself from his life in another way. She would use magic to make him forget and to help him move on to become the man she knew.

He did not like that plan. He wanted to remember, but he knew she was right. Hermione had said she was thirteen when he came to teach; he had seen a photograph of her at thirteen, and she was womanly enough to tempt him at that age. He could not imagine how he would react the first time she stayed back in class to ask a harmless question. To be alone with her again after seventeen years apart would be torture, and dangerous.

“Remus?” she squeezed his hand. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, fine, great,” he said far too quickly.

“You’re still taking notes,” she pointed.

His hand was moving across the bottom of the page, transcribing the loudest voices in the crowd of students as they left the room. He growled at his stupidity and crossed out the notes he had written after Morven told them to leave.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Just thinking…”

“About last night?” she pulled close.

“I wa–“

“Oi! Lover boy, get a move on!” Sirius called, interrupting Remus’s near-confession. He scowled and cursed his friend, but secretly wanted to thank him. He had planned to tell Mione the truth, but worried how she would react. Would she clear his memory this soon before she left? Before he had given her the Felix Felicis to assist her? There were so many more complications with this relationship than he had initially thought might exist. Dating after this would seem a cake walk, provided he remembered this particular relationship.

They left the classroom together, but Edlyn and Una stood blocking their passage. They looked on the pair with hungry eyes and stole Mione away, literally ripping the girl from his hands. They were desperate to know where their friend had spent the night. Visual inspection alone told them nothing; both she and Remus looked perfectly clean and presentable, though Remus did have a hint of stubble on his teenaged chin. They did not know Mione was brilliant and could clean clothes and bodies with a single spell. Remus could hear their urgent whispers and giggles echoing through the corridor ahead of him.

“How long before they figure it out, do you think?” Remus wondered.

“Those girls have dirty minds, so I’d say an hour at most,” James shrugged.

“You seemed mighty distracted in class? Reliving some of your finer moments?” Sirius draped an arm over his shoulder as they walked.

“I was thinking about what you said, actually,” Remus replied.

“You spend the night naked with Mione and you’re thinking about _me_ the morning after? I don’t know if I should be worried or honoured.”

“Worried,” said James.

“Fuck off,” Remus said. “I think you’re right. She’s going to take my memories away.”

“Do you want her to?”

“No…yes…I don’t know. I don’t want to forget her, but I don’t want to put her in danger because I can’t control myself when she’s thirteen and doesn’t know any better.”

“Very wise,” Sirius said.

“Well, there might be another way,” James said in a low voice as they dropped into their seats in the Great Hall. “I was inspired by your girl and went to the library. Found a couple books on memory charms.” He pulled a book from his bag and flipped through until he found what he was looking for, then laid the book down before them. “It says that memory charms only work on memories in the person’s brain.”

“Your point?” Sirius asked.

“It won’t work on memories that have already been pulled out,” James smirked and turned the page. He jabbed a finger at the illustration.

The old German woodcut print showed a man holding his wand to his head, a thin thread trailed from the tip to his temple. Had the man not been bald, the thread might easily have been mistaken for a strand of hair. The caption read that memories could be removed for outside viewing with a Pensieve.

“A memory can be pulled out and kept in a jar or something. You’ll still sort of remember, but it would be like you’re remembering a story someone else told you.”

“When did you find this out?” Remus asked.

“Last night when Sirius first said something,” James replied. “I went to the library and read whatever I could find.”

“Why bother keeping it, though? If it’s so dangerous to remember her, why keep it?” Sirius asked as he thumbed through the rest of the book.

“I figured it would be the best of both options. We’ll hold onto it until after Mione’s not your student anymore and can give it back to you,” James said. “Pop it back in your brain, and decide what to do then.”

Remus looked sceptical. He knew James would die well before Hermione came to school, but he did not know what would happen to Sirius or Peter. A lot of dark and dangerous things were happening outside of Hogwarts and it was a very real possibility that his memories might never make it back to him.

“Alright,” Remus said. “I’ll do it, but I want to find a safer place to keep my memories.”

“What? We’re perfectly safe places,” Sirius smacked him.

Remus narrowed his eyes at the boy, “I don’t trust you not to look, you randy bastard.”

“Git.”

“Sounds good,” James interrupted before they started properly fighting. “There’s bound to be some way to lock the memory somewhere until a certain date.”

“To the library!” Sirius stood and pointed.

“After lunch, you git,” Remus pulled him back to the bench by his Gryffindor tie.

oOo

As they stood, Remus heard the sudden burst of giggles. He looked over to the Hufflepuff table, where Mione sat blushing while her friends covered their faces. Pamela was peeking through her fingers and saw Remus staring at them. She squeaked and hid her face while giggles took hold of her whole body. Edlyn, clearly the most courageous Hufflepuff of their cete, stood and started making her way around the table to intercept him.

Mione locked eyes on him and mouthed the word ‘Run.’

The brave Gryffindor gathered his bag and ran to the exit to evade her. “Help,” he said as he raced past his friends, strolling through the entrance hall.

“Remus!” Edlyn called after him.

“Edlyn,” James smiled and blocked her way. “How have you been?”

“Fine,” she said, not looking at him.

He was shocked. She always turned to gillyweed when he was nearby, lost ability to function if he spoke to her, yet here she was completely unaffected by his smile. She was ignoring him in favour of Remus. He didn’t want to return to his conceited ways, but this was just crazy.

“What do you want with Remus?”

“I need confirmation,” she said dismissively and tried to walk around him. James was quick and kept himself immediately before her. “Will you please stop that?”

“No, sorry,” he smiled again as her eyes turned on him. She blushed but did not giggle or sigh. “Confirmation of what?”

She turned her eyes away and blushed deeper with embarrassment. “Of what happened last night…”

“Oh, that,” James said. “I only know what Remus said.”

“What did he say?” She turned on him eagerly.

“Well, I don’t think it would be right for me to share that information,” he looked away, a small smile on his face.

“So it’s true!” She squealed and ran back into the Great Hall.

“Hufflepuffs are so excitable,” Sirius shook his head and smiled. “You didn’t say anything and look at them. Maybe I should go rescue Mione.”

“Moony might get a little hex happy if you go saving his girl,” James warned.

Sirius’s face darkened with the thought of an angry Remus at his throat. He didn’t know if sleeping with the girl would make him more or less possessive of her, but he did not wish to find out. “Fair point.”

They turned and left Mione to the Badgers. Remus would be mortified to learn that the whole of Hufflepuff knew his prowess by now. James wanted to warn him about the stares and winks to come; Sirius, git that he was, wanted to be the first to rub it in. They found him fresh from the bath, buckling his belt and digging for a clean shirt, his bare back exposed.

“Oh, I see how it was last night,” Sirius poked at the cuts down the Prefect’s back. They were nowhere near as severe as the marks left by the werewolf or by the Animagus’s claws, but they were deep enough not to have completely scabbed over yet. “No wonder you want to hold onto your memories.”

“Bad news,” James said, ignoring Sirius’s comments, though he was impressed by the scratches. “They know.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Remus said. He hissed as the shirt hit the fresh marks on his back. A wave of the wand would have them healed and gone inside a moment, but with the prospect of losing his memory, Remus wanted all the evidence he could that this was real. A few scars, even if they faded with time, were as good as Galleons to him right now. “So, this removal of memories, how does it work?”

“You hold the thought in your head, say the charm and pull it out,” Sirius said, looking in the book. “Easy as breathing.”

“How do I put them back in?”

“Uh,” James stole the book from Sirius’s hands and tore through it to find the answer. “Oh, you just hold it to your head. I thought it would be more complicated.”

“When should I do it, then?” Remus said, more to himself than anything. He didn’t know what it would feel like to have a memory plucked from his head or how he would behave once it was gone. Would he remember Mione?

There was a time limit to his decision. Her potion would be mature in just a fortnight. She might decide any time during the next two weeks to wipe his memory clear to make her departure easier on the both of them. He refused to miss his window to save what they had.

“Now,” Remus said with a determination that was totally alien to his normal speech. “Give me the book, I’m going to do it now.”

“Aren’t you meeting Mione in a bit?” James questioned.

“Yes,” he said. “If ever I deserved to act weird, it would be now. She can explain away anything odd by what we did last night or that all her friends knowing we did it.”

“Cunning,” Sirius muttered.

Remus sat on his bed, studying the book, muttering the charm again and again until he got the inflection exactly as it was described in the book. His friends watched, worried that something might go wrong, but not wanting to say anything to disturb him. After thirty minutes of muttering, Remus conjured a silver flask as described in the text and readied himself to lose a memory. He closed his eyes and remembered her hair tickling his side, her breath grazing his skin as she slept, her cool hand on his warm stomach. It was a small and seemingly insignificant memory, one he could live without but one he would very much like to keep. Holding it in his mind, he put his wand to his temple and muttered the charm. A silvery thread stuck to the tip as he pulled the wand from his head. It looked like one of his greying hairs. He slid it into the flask and closed the lid tight.

“What’s it like?” James whispered.

Remus frowned and thought about the memory he had just pulled away. Somewhere between their last roll in bed and waking, he had a fuzzy idea that there was something else. Like Mione had woken the next morning and told him she had been lying on his chest and he was imaging what that must have felt like.

“Strange,” he replied. “Let me try again.”

He decided to lose a less pleasant memory, the first day back to classes in January when he realised she would not be speaking to him or sitting by him again. He focused on that painful thought and pulled the memory loose. Again it was like one of his friends told him what had happened. He couldn’t really believe there was a hole in his memory, it was so fuzzy around the edges; the memories still in his brain blurring to fill the gap.

“Very strange,” he said.

He kept at it until he had only the very vague notion that he had a girlfriend. He knew her name and what she looked like, but everything else seemed like hearsay. He couldn’t be sure that she was from the future, liked to study or even if they had sex just last night. If anyone said anything to the contrary he would not be able to disprove it; everything was a bit indistinct.

“I think you might have taken too many out,” Sirius worried aloud. He did not like the dazed look on Remus’s face when James asked about going to see Mione. If he acted this way when he went to see her, she would know something was wrong. The girl was smart, smart enough to know the difference between embarrassed and befuddled.

“No, I’ll be fine. I know what to do,” Remus insisted. He screwed the cap tight on the flask and buried it in the bottom of his trunk. He would work out later how to seal it and remind himself in about twenty years that it was there and very important.


	38. Dead Men Writing

Mione didn’t notice.

Hermione didn’t notice.

Remus frowned and tried to figure out which name he was supposed to call her when they were alone. He settled on not saying her name at all. Either way, the girl did not notice that he had few clear memories of her. He stepped into the Room of Requirement and was knocked over by the stench. He had not left any memories of just how horrid her potion was. The clean air bubble secured around his head, he stole up behind her and hugged her. It seemed very forward to him considering she was one step up from being a stranger, but she did not complain. She turned in his arms and wrapped her own around him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Sorry? Remus thought, Why is she sorry? What had she done? Should I be angry?

“It’s fine,” he said.

“But they know,” she said.

They? Who are ‘they’? What do ‘they’ know? Should I be worried that ‘they’ know whatever it is that they know? he wondered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he insisted.

“It does to me. It’s embarrassing the way they giggle and prod and ask how you were,” she said and hugged him tight. “Which was wonderful in case you wanted to know.”

“Thank you,” he said, not really knowing what she was talking about. He was very glad that she was so intent on rubbing her cheek against his chest instead of looking into his face. He was quite sure that the look of utter perplexity on it would have given her a massive clue that something was very wrong with him.

“Was I?” she asked in a tiny voice.

“You were fantastic,” he assured her without pause. He might not remember much, but he was certain she would not ask him a trick question. Also, he could tell by her tone that she really was more than a little apprehensive. If assurances were what she needed, that is what he would give her.

“Can we do it again? Soon?” she asked quietly. “I’m going to be ready to start my spell soon, then I won’t be here for long.”

“What? Yes, of course. Whenever you like,” he smiled and kissed her hair. Somehow he knew it was wrong, her hair. It ought to be softer.

“…now?”

“Now?” He panicked. He didn’t know what she wanted him to do, but he had already said that they could do it, whatever it was, whenever she liked. “Sure.”

“Good!” She grabbed her bag and his hand and pulled them out of the laboratory. As soon as the door faded back into the solid stone wall, she paced and summoned it again. Remus thought this was all very strange behaviour, but said nothing as he was supposed to know what he had agreed to.

She opened the door and pulled him inside. It was a bedroom with a view of a garden. He recognised the view as the one from his great-grandmother’s farmhouse in France, but this room was wrong. All the rooms in that house had worn pine floors with simple woven throw rugs that the woman had bought from Muggles in the village. This room had floors that were too dark and a large oriental rug. The beds in the farmhouse were all small and had canopies to keep the debris falling on their heads from the birds nesting in the thatched roof. This bed was far too large.

The room was quaint and looked like it had been fashioned by someone he had described the farmhouse to and was building it from hearsay and assumptions, but he knew better.

While he stood in silent contemplation of the room, the girl, whatever he ought to call her, threw her bag down and jumped on him. The weight of her in his arms brought him back to the present and the ‘it’ he had agreed to. He still didn’t know what ‘it’ was, but he suspected he was going to enjoy it. A lot.

oOo

Remus trudged into the Great Hall and lowered himself onto the hard wooden bench. He was sore all over, feeling muscles he had never known existed.

“Well?” James asked. The werewolf’s state of discomfort could not be taken as a clear indication that it went well or poorly.

“I took too many memories away,” Remus groaned and tried to find a sitting position that didn’t hurt. He suspected he had pulled something in his back and probably in his groin, too.

“She knew, right? She kicked your arse for forgetting something important, right?” Sirius said.

“I forgot something important, all right,” Remus winced as he reached for his goblet. “I completely forgot what we did last night and agreed to do it again whenever she liked.”

“Well, you had sex. You do remember what sex is, right?”

“Yes, and if I had forgotten, she’s already reminded me…twice,” Remus said. While he was very happy to have so talented a partner, he was greatly annoyed with himself for taking such glorious memories away in the first place. “She was very eager for me to do something I’d done before, but I forgot what it was and had to guess.”

“Did you guess right?”

“I think so. She didn’t say anything…well, anything I care to repeat in public,” he said and a blush touched his cheeks.

Sirius’s eyes glittered and he opened his mouth to speak, but James spoke first. “Do you remember the Felix Felicis?” James asked before Sirius could demand to know what the girl had said in the heat of passionate love-making. He spent enough time with the boy to be able to read his demented excitement.

“Uh…yes, Padfoot has it. I had you steal it,” he said after a pause, but thought about it for a moment, confusion clear on his face. “Why did I have you steal it?”

“Dammit, Moony, did you take every memory that had anything to do with her?” Sirius kicked him under the table.

“The potion might blow up, remember?” James prompted. When he saw no response, he tried again. “The potion to crystallise time…you said it’s the worst stench you’ve ever smelled short of Padfoot’s socks…she’s going to cast a spell on it and it might explode…”

“Vaguely remember something about that,” Remus said, his eyebrows knit so tightly together they appeared to be one.

“We’re putting some of those memories back in right after dinner,” Sirius insisted. “There’s no way you can pull off a decent conversation this way. She’s not just going to want sex every time you meet; there will be some talking involved.”

Remus nodded in agreement. His encounter with Mione…Hermione…whoever proved that.

Immediately after dinner, he reinserted all the memories into his head. With them back in place, he realised just how oddly he had acted toward her that afternoon. The only thing that saved him from being noticed was how worried she had been and her desire for an encore. He thought about it and decided which memories would be most effective in helping him remember Hermione as his girlfriend and lover in the future. These he plucked from his head and stored in the flask.

“James,” he said. “Write me a letter telling me what’s in the flask, would you?”

“Why me? My writing is unreadable,” James snorted.

“Just do it!”

“Git,” James muttered but wrote out a letter explaining who Mione was and why the memories of her were locked in the flask. He signed it, dated it and blotted the ink. Remus could barely read the writing, but he knew that seeing a letter from a dead man would certainly get his attention in the future.

He conjured a small box, put the letter and flask into it and warded it. The ward would release in precisely seventeen years and four months; the box would open at the end of Hermione’s third year at Hogwarts, when he was no longer her teacher. It would be up to him to decide what to do with the memories.

“Has she ever mentioned what happens to any of us?” James asked. “She said you were her teacher and I was going to get Lily and have a son, but anything else?”

“No,” Remus lied. “Nothing. The less we know the better.”

“Why didn’t she mention me at all, I wonder?” Sirius said and leaned back on his bed. “Maybe she doesn’t know me in the future.”

“Rubbish,” James insisted. “If she knows my kid, then she’ll know you. You’re going to be his Godfather.”

“Cheers to that!” Sirius grinned. “I can’t wait to meet him. I’m going to teach that kid all kinds of stuff.” He sat up suddenly and dove into his bag.

Remus watched him pull out a clean sheet of parchment and smooth it out on his bed before digging out his best ink and a fresh quill. “What are you doing now?” Remus asked wearily.

“Writing my Godson a letter,” he said as if it were obvious.

“You’re going to know him his whole life,” James pointed out. “You don’t need to write him a letter.”

“No,” he said, giving them each a look of pity, like they were too thick to grasp what he was saying. “He will know my adult self his whole life. I want to write him a letter while I am young and foolish.”

“As opposed to just talking to him in person when you’re old and foolish?” Remus quirked an eyebrow.

“You can shut it, Moony,” he pointed the quill tip at him; a drop of ink fell from the point and stained his blanket, but he didn’t care. He had a lot to tell the boy. He turned back to the parchment and proceeded to write, with an unnaturally legible penmanship, a letter to Harry.

James edged closer and tried to read the letter. Sirius waved him away. “Do you mind? This is a private letter from me to Harry.”

“You will not go filling my son’s head with curse words,” James pointed at him.

“He’ll be sixteen when Mione goes back. I’m sure he’s learned them already and probably from you,” Sirius smirked and went back to his letter, giggling to himself as he wrote.

While he was distracted, Remus crept around to sneak a peek at the letter. James watched his reaction, steeling himself for the inevitable. “James, he’s telling your son about The Niffler Incident!”

“Oi!” Sirius pushed Remus away.

“That never happened!” James dove at the parchment and tore it from Sirius’s grip. “I forbid you to write my son a letter! Ever!”

“The boy needs to know these things,” Sirius insisted with a grin. “To learn from your mistakes…especially where Nifflers are concerned.”

“No. He. Does. Not!” James glared and shredded the parchment with particularly vicious wave of his wand. He sent the shreds flying into the heater at the centre of the room. “No letters! Not ever! Not even if I’m deathly ill and you’re the only one with hands capable of writing!”

“You’ll be sorry when your son comes home from school one year and he—“

James silenced him with a wave of his wand. Sirius’s eyes continued to glitter delightedly as he imagined telling Harry about The Niffler Incident. The boy’s father had forbidden him to write it, but he hadn’t said anything about telling him in person. So many stories he could tell the boy. 


	39. Stag Night

With his memory almost entirely restored, Remus was able to interact properly with his girlfriend. He knew what name to call her and when. He knew what it was she wanted when she asked him to do that thing he did before. He knew she was acting strange. Hermione was preparing to leave, which left Mione with some awkward excuses to make about why she could not attend parties or would not agree to be anyone’s study partner after the second of March. She did not want to be responsible for someone else’s failing grade because she flippantly agreed to do half of a translation or help someone study for exams.

She had her temporal jars ready. She practiced her shield charm and the spell to crystallise time two hours every day. He suspected she was also practicing a memory charm when he was not around, but he couldn’t be sure. In addition to that, she was determined to keep her grades up and still spend all her free time with Remus. He admired her for it, but knew she was starting to wear her nerves thin with the strain of it.

The only truly tranquil and stress-free time she had was that spent at the facsimile of the Lupin farmhouse in the Room of Requirement. Despite what Sirius thought it was not all sex all the time when they met there. Admittedly, that Thursday afternoon was spent naked together since neither had any classes to concern themselves with until the following morning. Then came the first weekend, which was glorious. The soreness after Saturday’s enthusiastic acrobatics, however, tempered their activities for the rest of the weekend. Sunday was spent lying together talking. Hermione wanted to know all about his life to this point, his parents and home and life before Hogwarts. It was all new to her. She told him of her Muggle life, too. He supposed it wouldn’t matter how much she shared if she intended to take it all away before she left.

Even as he lie in bed, her soft hair on his side and her body pressed into his, he felt a melancholy beginning to shadow his happiness. She was leaving, and he would not remember her again until the ward opened on the box in seventeen years. Seventeen years, that was older than he was now.

It was the moon. The full moon was coming and with it brought the mood swings. They were not so severe as November or December when his desire was unsatisfied, and not so wearying as January when he had not eaten for the whole month. This was a mild depression that began to grow as the moon grew rounder. Hermione held him until the last hour before the full moon rose on Wednesday. She kissed him gently and gave him up to Sirius and James.

“Nice hair,” Sirius said with only a hint of sarcasm. She was Hermione with her bushy hair, brown eyes and Midlands accent. Only Remus had ever seen her looking as she naturally did and they found it was not entirely shocking to see her looking so soft.

“I kind of like it,” James defended her.

“Don’t you talk about my girlfriend’s hair,” Remus warned.

“I have a girl lined up, thank you very much,” he insisted. “I don’t need to ogle yours. Sirius on the other hand…”

“Oi!” Sirius shoved him. “Don’t sic him on me! He might remember that when the moon rises.”

“I won’t remember,” Remus promised.

“You might. You and he had a lot in common in December,” Sirius reasoned. “No telling what he’ll do this month.” It was a fear that had been gnawing at him for a week and he only had courage enough to voice it now. Remus was satisfied, but would the wolf know that? The wolf wanted blood not just flesh.

“We’re going to find out soon enough,” James muttered as they entered the hidden passage and made their way to the Shrieking Shack.

oOo

“Mione!” a voice called to her down the corridor.

Hermione looked but didn’t see anyone. She was just leaving the library after spending hours in the Restricted Section double checking all the books on magical time travel. It would not do to become complacent and end up blowing herself up because she assumed she had all the information she needed. She was also desperate for something to keep her mind occupied; she was worried about what this full moon might do to Remus.

It was close to eleven o’clock, well past moon rise and curfew. The teachers and prefects knew that she was studious and often lost track of time in the library even with Madam Pince breathing down her neck, so she didn’t expect anyone to be calling her name.

“Mione! Hurry!”

She still saw no one but the voice was quite urgent, whoever it was.

“Quickly, toward the greenhouses! It’s Remus! You have to hurry!”

“Remus?” She dropped her bag and ran as quickly as she could down the corridor and stairs and out through the entrance hall. The moon was round and bright in the sky, bathing the grounds in a shining yellow light. She could see the greenhouses where Herbology classes were held, and she could hear the sounds of animals, not frightening sounds of fighting like the ones she remembered from the December full moon. If these sounds had a human equivalent, she would say it was laughter.

‘Hurry’ the voice had told her.

She ran down the path and across the lawn to the greenhouses. The animals were hidden from her and she from them. She had read that it was dangerous to startle any animal regardless of how docile it might appear, so she took the more cautious route through the greenhouses, peering  through the steamy windows until she saw movement on the other side.

Slowly she wiped the condensation from the glass and studied the animals. Three of them, no four–a stag, impressively large with antlers to shame the best trophies in Europe, a rat, small and unassuming, a dog, large and black as the shadows through which they romped and an animal unidentified by Muggle science.

“What is that?”

Mione whipped around at the voice, startled. “Lily?”

“Mione, what is that thing? It looks like a wolf, doesn’t it?” Lily Evans narrowed her brilliant green eyes to better see through the foggy glass.

“What are you doing here?” Mione whispered, trying to hide her panic.

“I heard a voice saying there was someone in trouble by the greenhouses. I thought it might be Peeves being, well, Peeves, but thought I should look just to be on the safe side,” the redhead whispered back and eyed the girl. “Are you in trouble?”

Mione stifled a hysterical laugh, “Not yet.”

“Do you know what’s going on?” Lily was growing concerned.

“Yes,” Mione said. “But it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Do you know what that wolf thing is?”

“Yes,” she said, and paused to look through the glass again. “And I’m hoping it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Does it sound like they’re laughing to you?” Lily asked with a smile. “I’ve never heard animals sound like that.”

Mione was replying, but her voice got lost in the sounds of breaking glass. A rock flew through a window nearest them, shattering the glass and sending shards flying down on them like clear razors. It hurt, but Mione managed to keep herself from screaming and drawing the attention of the werewolf. Evans was not so controlled, a shout ripped from her mouth as the glass cut into her legs.

“Now it’s something to worry about,” Mione gripped the Gryffindor’s hand with painful strength and hurried toward the door. She hauled Lily behind her across the lawn as quickly as she could but she knew it would not be fast enough.

The howl rose from the darkness. She remembered that howl from the Christmas moon, loud and hungry. The wolf smelled their blood. Any human consciousness that might have been present minutes before would be lost to the werewolf’s desires once that metallic tang reached his nostrils.

“Oh my god!” Lily shrieked and began running with considerably more effort than she had been when she thought they were running to avoid a vandal. “That wolf thing! It’s coming!”

Mione hit the heavy wooden door to the castle and yanked hard on the handle, but the massive door didn’t budge. It was locked. “Alohamora!” she cried and waved her wand at it. Nothing happened. It was Snape again, she just knew it.

“What do we do?” Evans yelled.

Only once had Hermione faced Remus as a werewolf out in the open. She had run away and hidden in Hagrid’s hut. She knew that wouldn’t work this time. Lily and she were both bleeding. The wolf would smell their blood and follow them there. She didn’t understand; Snape had made a promise to leave her alone, to leave Remus alone.

She turned her wand to point at Lily, who in her panic thought Mione was attacking and threw her hands up in defence.

“Scorgio!” Mione said and the bloody trails down the Gryffindor’s legs vanished. The cuts were clean. In the moonlight she could see they were not deep, just numerous.

She pointed the wand at the girl’s robes, “Rumpero!” A tear formed and Lily took hold of the fabric and yanked it away from the rest of the garment. She wrapped her leg quickly while Mione used the spell to tear another strip of fabric for the other leg.

“Hurry, we have to fix you!” Lily said. “Scorgio!” The blood vanished from Mione’s leg, but the howl rose up again and they saw the werewolf appear at the edge of the lawn.

It was no use. Even with clean wound and bandages to stop the bleeding, Remus was lost to his darker half. He was breathing heavily and bleeding from bite marks on his legs where the other animals had tried to hold him back. Sirius’s dog could smell the blood and knew why their friend had suddenly turned so wild. He latched his jaws onto Moony’s hind leg while Peter’s rat nipped at Moony’s ears. The stag galloped up the grass and came right at them.

Lily pointed her wand and tried to think what spell to use to stop the animal’s attack; she glanced at Mione expecting to see her wand raised and a spell on her lips, but the Hufflepuff was just standing there, waiting.

“What the hell are you doing here?” James shouted.

“Potter?” Evans turned back to the stag, but it was gone. A very angry James Potter stood in its place. “Where’s the deer?”

“Stag, thank you,” he corrected irritably, “And that’s not the point. Mione, you are an idiot. Why are you here? You know what Moony gets like!”

“Remus?” Lily looked around, but all she saw were the animals fighting.

“There was a voice. It said Remus was in trouble, so I came,” Mione said, no less annoyed than the boy. “I’m trying to escape, but the door is locked.”

“You blew the last one up, do it again!” he shouted.

“This is the front door, James. It is far stronger and I wouldn’t be able to make a dent in it. The best we can do it break a window and climb in,” Mione pointed to the nearest window.

“Then do it!”

“I’m too short!”

“Climb on my back,” James commanded.

The absurdity of the suggestion made Lily forget that there was a wolf trying to kill them. She wanted to laugh, but saw that he was serious. It was probably the most serious expression she had seen ever seen on him, more serious even than when he stood opposite Slytherin on the Quidditch pitch.

A fierce snarl sounded far too close and she looked to see the black dog being thrown across the grass. It was only the end of February; the snow may not have fallen in weeks, but the ground was still frozen and the dog landed hard. She swore she heard a crack when it landed.

“How are we—“ Lily stopped. James was gone. In his place was the deer–stag–standing tall and proud with Mione balanced on his back. She had unlocked the window with her wand and was hoisting herself in. When she was safely straddling the frame, she looked down to Lily and motioned for her to hurry.

“Potter?” she looked in amazement as the stag cocked his head to the side as James so often did when she addressed him. She shivered as the hungry cry of the wolf cut through her thoughts.

James knelt down and bumped into her, knocking her over onto his back. It wasn’t very gentlemanly, he knew, but neither was letting her get slaughtered by a werewolf. She found her footing on the stag’s muscular back and managed to climb into the window. James waited until he was sure she would not fall out of the castle before he galloped magnificently back to Remus.

“So that was James?” Lily said with wonder.

“He’s not quite as self-centred as you thought, no?” Mione smiled.

“You knew he could do that?” Her green eyes were huge. “What else don’t I know?”

“I think you might want to ask him that. He’s been doing very well not talking about himself lately, but I think he would like to have an outlet.”

“Yeah…” Lily was dumbstruck. James Potter was an Animagus. James Potter had saved her life.

“We should get back to our dorms,” Mione said seriously. “They might not be able to keep him out for long.”

“Yeah…”

 

 


	40. Hearts & Bones

The redheaded Gryffindor was anxious all morning. She had barely slept, imagining James up against the wolf. Wolves hunted deer in the wild, so why did he think he could go up against one? It was his arrogance again, she wanted to say, but knew better. He had mentioned Moony, and looking the length of the table she noticed that Remus was not at breakfast that morning, nor was Sirius.  As she considered Sirius’s absence, she thought immediately of the black dog, huge and bearlike just as Sirius was. If James could transform into a strutting, posing stag, then it stood to reason that Sirius could become a dog. Pettigrew had to be the small rat, but she found it hard to believe that Remus would choose to become a wolf. He was in no way lupine, except for his name.

“Did you hear all that noise last night?” Mary Macdonald asked her.

“Yeah,” Lily said quietly. She smoothed the robes over her legs to hide the bandages. There was something keeping her from telling anyone what she had seen. She felt inexplicably compelled to keep silent, like it was a secret she had not been granted permission to share.

“Scary, wasn’t it?” Mary continued. “It was a full moon, too. Maybe it was a werewolf coming out of the Forbidden Forrest. There has to be at least one living in there.”

“A werewolf?” Lily laughed. “They’re human all the rest of the month! There’s no way one could be living in the forest.”

“Maybe it lives in the castle, then,” Mary looked around, expecting to be able to identify the werewolf by its human appearance alone.

A werewolf in the castle? James had mentioned Moony. She could not imagine Remus choosing to become a wolf. What if he didn’t _choose_ to become one? What if he had no choice? She turned around and looked over at the Hufflepuff table, where Mione was sitting with her friends laughing and talking. She didn’t look as if she had faced any great danger; the girl looked as if she had slept soundly and without worry. If she had, it was because she knew. She knew. She knew about James. She had to know about Remus, too.

The girl, unique in her Beauxbatons blues, stood and started walking to the door.

“I forgot something for class,” Lily said quickly. “I’ll meet you there.”

She hurried to the door and found Mione in the corridor. She was walking with a slight limp and was hiding her legs beneath a long cloak where she normally wore one that only reached to her knees. Lily wanted to run to catch up but the cuts on her lets hurt too much and she had to stumble along some distance behind her.

“Rough night?” Spoke a voice Lily knew very well, but it did not speak to her.

Mione sighed, bored, “Didn’t we have this conversation already, Severus?”

Severus slid out from his hiding place behind a pillar and looked at Mione. “You don’t look so good. In pain?”

“No, thank you for your concern,” Mione said. “As I recall, you promised the Headmaster you were going to leave me alone. Luring me to the greenhouses, throwing rocks and locking the main door to the castle…I don’t think Professor Dumbledore would consider that as holding to your promise.”

Snape ignored her and leaned in, “I figured it out.”

“What?”

“Your secret,” Severus sneered.

“Oh, this ought to be good,” Mione folded her arms and waited.

“You called me Professor Snape,” his lips curled in a smile. “But Slughorn hadn’t told you my last name. No one mentioned it in the hallway before class and I never saw you look my way once in the Great Hall at breakfast. The only way you could say my last name is if you knew it already.”

“I don’t see how that could lead to learning my secret,” Mione said, still sounding uninterested in the conversation. That more than anything else seemed to irritate Snape.

“ _Professor_ Snape,” he insisted. “And I’ve seen what you read in the library. Theoretical magic of time travel…that’s very advanced, very _specific_ magic. Put them together with my name and what do you think I figured out?”

“That you have too much time on your hands and need a girlfriend?” Mione speculated.

“No! You are not from France. You are from the future, where I am a professor.”

“An excellent hypothesis, Severus,” Mione said, not giving him a hint of satisfaction by her casual response. “But I’m confused. How does setting a werewolf on Lily Evans and me help to prove or disprove your idea.”

“I was giving you what you wanted, a lifetime of equality with your boyfriend,” he sneered. “I was hoping he’d bite you. Revenge for stealing my Felix Felicis.”

“Revenge? I never stole anything from you.”

Snape leaned in, “Potter did. He stole it for you. I heard him.”

Hermione had years of experience tolerating Snape’s skewed logic of fair punishment, but a lifetime suffering from lycanthropy seemed a bit harsh even by Snape’s standards. She pushed down the anger and glared at him. “And you thought Lily deserved such treatment, as well?”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt Lily,” he said in a low voice tainted with regret. “I wanted to show her what he’s really like.”

“Remus?”

“Potter,” he spat the name.

“And what is he like, Sev?” Lily asked, sick of hiding and angry at him for what she had heard.

“He’s a liar! He knows what Lupin is and hides the truth.”

“I saw him saving lives and trying to help his friend,” she glared at him. “Last time I checked those are things that make a person a good one. What you did, Sev, that’s not what a good person does and not what I want in a friend.”

“But–“

“No, Severus. We’re done. You can call me whatever names you want, but don’t you dare call James Potter a liar!”

Snape looked like she had slapped him. He stumbled back a step and his posture shrunk. In the past Lily would have comforted him when he looked like that, but he had gone too far. Endangering their lives for petty retaliation and just to prove a point was the final nail in his coffin. She took Mione’s hand and walked away with more dignity than she believed she had at that moment.

“Where are we going?” Mione asked as Lily marched them past the passage that led to Charms.

“Hospital wing,” Lily said. “My legs hurt and I want to make sure James is all right.”

Mione just smiled and limped along beside the future Mrs Potter, who had slowed her pace and started hobbling now that they were out of sight of Severus and anyone else that might question them. It took some time to reach the door to the hospital wing, but neither spoke while they walked.

Madam Pomfrey was fussing over Sirius when they entered. “Ah, Miss Garnier,” the witch called. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into him!”

“I just want to go to the toilet… _alone_ ,” Sirius defended himself. “Is that really so wrong?”

“No, I suppose not,” Mione agreed.

“With a broken leg and three broken ribs?” Madam Pomfrey insisted. “He can barely breathe without help!”

“I thought you could mend bones instantly,” Mione said.

“Normally, yes, but there are too many broken at once,” she said. “I have to mend them one at a time and one per day to keep him going into shock. I’ve already mended his other leg.”

“You had two broken legs?” Lily said, amazed that Sirius was even conscious if that was true.

“Oh, Evans, didn’t see you there,” Sirius smiled. “Oi, James!” His bravado failed as he tried to shout to his friend and he winced against the pain in his side.

A muffled grumble came from behind a drawn curtain beside him. Madam Pomfrey nodded her approval and Lily pulled it aside. James lay on the bed, an arm and a leg each in a cast until they could be magically healed. His hair was messy, but far smoother than it usually was. His glasses were on his bedside table; he tried to reach for them, but he wasn’t able to turn his body without feeling the nauseating twinge of broken ribs.

“Here,” Lily took the glasses and slid them onto his face. She noticed the tiny contented sigh that escaped him when her fingers brushed his skin and smiled. “Let me fix this, too.” She took both hands to his hair and ruffled it to look like he had just gotten off his broomstick. “Much better.”

“Ffnnk nnmm,” he said through closed lips.

“I’m sorry?”

“Broken jaw,” Sirius said. “Poor man can’t say a word. Pomfrey says it’ll be a week before she can heal him. Imagine him not being able to say a single word for a whole week…damn shame.” He laughed and immediately bit back a choice swear and palmed his side.

“Ssrvs nnm rrht, nmm bsstrrrd,” James glared at him.

“I think I understood that, actually,” Lily said. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You can still listen. I wanted to thank you for last night. You saved my life.”

She was amazed that his posture didn’t shift. His chest always pushed out when someone complimented him, but he stayed perfectly still. Perhaps it was just the broken ribs stopping him, but she was encouraged by it. She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

He sighed openly and blissfully.

“And all because of you,” Sirius told Mione quietly.

“It’s what was supposed to happen,” she insisted, but still felt the warm feeling unfurl in her chest. “Oh! Is Remus alright?”

“Think he’s asleep,” he pointed to the curtain at the far end of the room.

Not bothering to wait for Madam Pomfrey’s approval, she went straight to the curtain and slipped behind it.

Remus was not asleep. He was sitting up in bed, holding his head in his hands and cursing himself for what he had done. He was ashamed of himself. He remembered everything they had done that night up to the point when he smelled the blood. It was black after that, he had lost consciousness to the wolf and heaven only knew what damage he had done after that.

“Remus?” Mione sat down next to him. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m never hurt,” he said bitterly. He didn’t look at her but kept his eyes locked on the end of the bed. “Everyone else gets hurt because of me.”

“I’m not hurt,” she said. “Well, I am, but that’s because of Snape.”

“Snape?” His head snapped up. “Snape did this to you again?”

She nodded. “He called it revenge, and he wanted Lily to see you and James.”

“Lily…is she…did I?”

“She’s fine. I’m fine. We’re both fine,” she assured him. “And Snape’s plan blew up in his face. He wanted to show Lily the truth about you and James to make her hate you both, but it did just the opposite.”

“I can’t say I’m glad,” he sighed, “But at least someone’s happy about what happened.”

“Excuse me, Miss Garnier,” Sirius pulled the curtain aside. “I would like to know just what you thought you were doing out of your dormitory after curfew.”

“You sound like a prefect, Mr Black,” Mione said, mimicking his condescending tone.

“Well, our prefect is currently off his nut, so someone has to do his job until he’s well again. Answer the question, please.”

“Studying, Mr Black.”

Sirius shook his head disapprovingly and waggled a finger at her. “You know better than to be out after dark on the full moon even for academic reasons. I hope you plan to be tucked in and away from dangerous men next time.”

“Of course, Mr Black.”

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, the toilet calls,” he hobbled on crutches to the washroom, cursing the whole way.

Lily was doing her best to hold the giggles in, but was sure that she had cracked at least two ribs from the effort. She had always watched James and his friends from the outside, seeing their puerile banter as a stubborn refusal to grow up and face the dark reality of what was happening outside; knowing how they spent their full moons, she felt they deserved their silliness. They were more responsible than she had ever known, despite outward appearances.

“Lily?”

She looked over at Remus. He was exhausted from a night prowling and a morning of self-loathing and looked as thin and tired as he did every month. Severus had been right about him, he was a werewolf. And that didn’t bother her. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to, really.”

“I know,” she smiled. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

“Thank you,” he said, relief washing over him. He leaned back against his pillow and closed his eyes. Mione fussed with the blankets and his hair and kissed his forehead, but finally had to step away and close the curtain when he fell asleep.

“Is everyone friendly?” Sirius asked as he lowered himself onto his bed, with considerable help from Madam Pomfrey.

“Yes,” Lily said with a quick glance at James.

He was everything she had thought him incapable of being, just as Severus had turned out to be everything she hoped he wouldn’t. If her best friend ended up a Death Eater, what would these seeming buffoons become?

“I’m curious about something, but I should probably wait until all of you can talk…”

“Nah, I know what he’ll say,” he pointed his thumb over at James. “And Moony’s an open book. Peter…I’m not so sure about. He surprises us all on occasion.”

“Where is Peter?” Mione asked.                              

“Sitting in for us in Charms,” he said and fought to keep himself from shrugging. “What did you want to know?”

“The Death Eaters,” Lily said unexpectedly. “What do you think of them?”

“Bunch of fucking bastards,” Sirius said without pause. “Right, Prongs?”

James could only nod and make a few inappropriate gestures with his good hand, but it was enough for her. If the loudest and goofiest of them thought so low of the Death Eaters then Remus, the most calm and deliberate of them, would certainly agree. They acted the fools, but their hearts were in the right place.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” she smiled. 


	41. Too Many Questions

For the two remaining days of the February full moon, Mione was joined by Lily in the library. The Gryffindor was worried and anxious for Remus now that she knew the truth about him. Sitting in hospital with James and Sirius only seemed to make it worse because she could see the damage the werewolf could do when it took over and knew that no one was with him to keep him from harming anyone. Peter was there, but how much could a rat do? The boys assured her that he would be locked up, safe as houses, in the Shrieking Shack and no one would get hurt; watching Mione read in the library, as calm as any other day of the month or phase of the moon, was a great deal more comforting.

If the girl was not worried for what her boyfriend would do during the night, then Lily had no cause to be anxious either.

Still, there was something pulling at her, gnawing at her gut and it would not leave her alone.

“Mione?” Lily asked Friday afternoon.

She looked up from her book, a thick leather-bound tome from the Restricted Section with the prohibitively long title of _The Theoretical and Practical Application of Self-Invented Solidification Spells and Charms on Potions of Varying Maturity and Stench: Three Hundred And One Ministry-Approved Experiments from 1770 - 1970_.

“Is it true?” Lily whispered. “What Severus said, his hypothesis about you, is it true? Are you really…not from around here?”

Mione’s mouth pulled into a small, private smile and she set her book down. “He is very smart.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Severus is very smart and irritatingly observant,” she said. “That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”

Lily saw the gleam in Mione’s eye. She saw the same gleam when Mione knew someone was getting their answers right in class. Severus was correct. “What’s James like where you are from?”

An odd smile played on her face making her look almost sad. “A lot more like what he is now than what he was in September.”

“How old is he?”

“Old enough to have a son my age,” Hermione smiled. She liked how curious the girl was about James, but she did worry that Lily might ask too many questions.

“He has a son? What’s his name?”

“Harry.” It seemed harmless enough to tell her that, but Lily’s face fell and her eyebrows danced on her forehead, rising in shock then knitting together in thought. “What is it?”

“Harry. That’s my father’s name.”

“What a coincidence,” Mione said and became fascinated with the binding on her book.

Lily glared at her. She knew better than to believe in coincidence and Mione’s reaction told her that she didn’t believe in them either. She was from the future, knew James’s son, who had the same name as her father, Harry Evans. She considered the way James had changed since Mione’s arrival, and the way her own feelings changed toward him because of it. She thought him handsome and now his behaviour was that of someone she would consider dating.

“Oh,” Lily’s eyes grew wide eyes. “Am I going to marry James?”

“I rather think that’s for you to decide,” Mione said dismissively. “But as you’ve not gone on a date yet, I think it’s a bit premature to ask that.”

“You know what I mean!” the redhead hissed.

Mione stopped pretending to be indifferent and looked pointedly at the agitated girl opposite. “The decision is yours to make when the question is asked, but I would be very sad to lose my best friend, Harry, if you decided to say ‘no’.”

Evans was dumbstruck. She had only just started thinking seriously about James Potter as a potential boyfriend, and now to be told that she would be his wife, have his child. It was so close to being ridiculous that she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Hermione said nothing more and returned to her book. She had planted the seeds of possibility, and hoped that it had not been overstepping the rules of the Time-Turner. After all, she was not altering the past, just nudging it in the proper direction.

Lily sat considering her life as Mrs Potter, raising a boy named for her Muggle father in the wizarding world. Voldemort clearly would not destroy everything she loved if this girl knew him and went to school with him. She imagined James’s friends coming round to teach the boy to play Quidditch, James and Sirius riding brooms with him and Remus teaching him the rules of the game. Remus… Remus was as old as James, who would be the father of Mione’s best friend.

The maths of it were not so complicated that she didn’t realise one thing: “Remus is old enough to be your father…ew,” Lily wrinkled her nose.

oOo

The werewolf who would later be old enough to be her father but was currently several months younger than Hermione was out of hospital and in class on Monday. James and Sirius had taken great pleasure in tormenting him over the weekend, refusing to let him leave their bedsides as it was his fault they were there to begin with. James had a small pang of guilt that he was denying the boy his last weekend with his girlfriend, but got over it quickly when he got the hiccups Saturday afternoon; his broken ribs made him nearly pass out with every involuntary muscle movement.

Remus hugged Mione tight, ignoring the odd looks from the other students.

“I’m so sorry,” he spoke into her hair. “Those prats wouldn’t let me leave.”

She wanted to respond, but her mouth was taken over by his.

Professor Bayard cleared his throat loudly, forcing Remus to pull away. “If you are quite ready, Mr Lupin.”

Remus flushed and turned in his seat to face the professor, but he kept his free hand on her leg and his hip pressed firmly against hers. She felt her heart tugging at her, wanting her to stay and never put any real distance between them. It had been a feeling that had been smouldering in her for some time, but now it was growing hotter, so hot she was certain her heart was aflame. This was her final week in 1977. The potion would be ready on Thursday, just three days from that morning.

“Is it my imagination or is Evans looking at us oddly?” Remus whispered, glancing nervously at Lily, who was looking reproachfully down the row at them. As tall as he was and as frightening as he could be if the pre-moon rise mood swings hit him the wrong way, he was shrinking away from the Gryffindor’s stares.

Lily was still having trouble with the idea that where Mione came from Remus was old enough to have a child her age. She was Muggle-born and the technicalities of time travel did not really register. Just because they were the same age now, did not make it completely okay. Although, she did admit they were a good match.

“She figured it out and doesn’t like the age gap,” Mione replied.

Remus’s face fell. “Oh. What else did she figure out?”

“She’s going to marry James.”

“Ah. Is she coping?”

“Better than I would have thought, actually,” she admitted. “She’s more concerned with us!”

“She doesn’t really have to worry about that for long, though,” he replied. He was resigned to the fact that she would be leaving. He knew it was for the best, but it still pained him. The box warded beneath his bed was a small consolation to her departure. In seventeen years he would have his memories back and, perhaps, if she would allow it, he would have her back, too. Though, Evans was right, twenty years was one hell of an age gap. Even if she remembered and wanted to be with him, they might not be able to be together. He pushed the idea from his mind and concentrated on Bayard’s voice as he discussed Gaelic Runes.

“I can’t quite figure it out,” Mione said as class was being dismissed.

“What?”

“What to tell everyone. I’m leaving, and they’re bound to notice that I’ve gone,” she said.

“You’ll think of something,” he assured her as they sat down to lunch together.

Shortly after the food appeared on their plates, a single owl flew into the Great Hall. Owls only ever delivered post at breakfast unless it was urgent. This owl flapped silently over every table in the hall, drawing attention away from the food. It swooped down and dropped a letter before the Headmaster, who was enjoying a delightful change of pace, eating breakfast for lunch. He looked as surprised as anyone; his blue eyes twinkled so excitedly that everyone in the hall could see the constellations behind his glasses. His jewelled fingers snapped the wax seal and he unfolded the thick yellow parchment and read to himself. He looked up over his half-moon spectacles at the Hufflepuff table, his eyes trained on Mione. He gestured her forward.

There was no one in the world that would be writing to Dumbledore about Hermione. She worried that someone at the Ministry might have discovered her presence and they wanted to use her as a weapon against Voldemort. She dismissed that concern immediately, knowing they probably would have sent Aurors to collect her and not just a letter.

“I believe this will interest you, Miss Garnier,” he said just loud enough for those nearest the high table to hear. The words were quickly broadcast down the house tables.

“Thank you,” she said and took the letter. It was written in a loopy writing she recognised as Dumbledore’s own hand. The words were in French, but she understood them perfectly.

‘Dear Miss Garnier,

‘I am writing this letter as a means for you to excuse yourself from your friends. Your premature and mysterious disappearance would certainly leave an impression on more than one Hogwarts student, and an appropriate means of explaining your departure has been arranged.

‘This Friday a man will appear claiming to be your father. This letter is supposedly the announcement of his arrival and his intent to return you to France. Please tell only your closest friends that he is coming. I’m sure they will do the admirable thing with your confidence.

‘I trust you have the situation in hand with young Remus Lupin.

‘Sincerely,

‘APWBD’

She knew that the initials stood for the whole of Professor Dumbledore’s name–Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. She smiled and looked at him, and his eyes twinkled with devious delight.

“I will prepare to leave Friday, Professor,” she said quietly. The students nearest the high table just managed to hear and they whispered excitedly to their neighbours. Before lunch ended, it was known that Mione was leaving at the end of the week. They just didn’t know why, where or for how long.

She was once again the centre of attention as she had been for the first few weeks of term. It was stressful enough to be leaving, but to have everyone’s eyes on her was unbearable. She found herself hiding under the hawk like glare of Madam Pince, knowing that the students would never dare congregate around her for fear of the witch’s anger; the woman had the ability to bar students from the library for as long as she liked if she felt they were behaving inappropriately. With exams coming upon them quickly, the last thing any of them wanted to was to lose library privileges, which left Hermione with at least one safe haven.

Remus took to hiding with her in the library, as much to spend time with her as to escape his new unexpected and unpleasant popularity. As the girl’s boyfriend, everyone assumed him privy to all her secrets and wanted to know what was happening. He was terrified that so many watchful eyes and too many questioning looks might reveal his secret instead of hers.

“I hate this,” Remus said as he fell into the chair beside her. “I can’t even go to class without being accosted.”

“It will pass,” she assured him. “They’ll get bored with it soon enough. They did last time.”

“But I wanted to spend my time alone with you enjoying ourselves, not hiding,” he growled and kicked the table. “I couldn’t even get to the Room of Requirement without someone following me. I had to pretend I was heading to the Astronomy tower.”

“So who’s minding the potion?” she asked, terrified that the potion would break in the final week.

“Sirius is looking in on it,” he said. “Don’t worry; he’s smarter than he lets on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else envision Sirius as being rather like Booth on the TV show Bones? Smirking and cocky and always wanting people to underestimate him. That's totally my Sirius.


	42. Limitless Potential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione does Science! Strike that. I mean Magic!

“Mione, I’m so sorry you’re leaving,” a second year told her in passing.

“Write to us, will you?” a fifth year Ravenclaw insisted.

“I’m looking forward to meeting your father,” Professor Flitwick said at breakfast Thursday.

Mione smiled and accepted their condolences and nodded that she would write and thanked those wishing her a pleasant journey back home, then went back to eating. The eyes turned away, ears found other conversations to listen to and she was old news. A sigh of relief passed her lips and she smiled. She had expected her friends to divulge her secret much sooner. It had taken them nearly three full days before they cracked under the pressure of their demanding peers.

Remus was left alone as well, much to his absolute delight. He strolled to Charms and landed lightly in his seat. No one watched him kiss his girlfriend or massage her thigh beneath their shared table. No one cared because rumour had it that Reginald McClintlock in Slytherin was cheating on his girlfriend with a Gryffindor. One rumour even had it on good authority that he intended to change houses to be closer to her. All eyes watched Reginald and his duelling girlfriends, leaving Remus and Mione to make their way unobserved to the Room of Requirement.

The stench had grown exponentially with each day. After two months of sitting undisturbed, the potion’s noxious fumes penetrated even the thickest clean air bubble they could manage to cast around their heads. James flatly refused to attend to it after smelling the lingering stink on Sirius’s robes, so it was just as well that the rumours had started flying about poor Reginald.

It was Thursday, the second of March. The scum on top of the potion had solidified into a thick green crust that resembled a wheel of cheese left to mould over. Mione, mouth held tightly shut and eyes watering from the smell, pulled on the thick Dragon hide gloves and used her wand to summon the disc of hardened impurities off the top of the cauldron. The directions read that the best method of disposal for the disc was to throw it into a raging fire, which she did. It caught fire immediately, releasing vibrant purple flames as it was consumed. The thick crust burned with surprising speed, and when it was gone so was the smell. The remaining potion, a light aqua blue like tropical seas, filled their pained noses with a delicate floral scent.

“I had not expected that,” Remus said and blinked away the last of the tears from his eyes.

“Nor I,” Hermione agreed. “The book didn’t say anything about this. I hope I did everything correctly.”

“Maybe they did it incorrectly,” he suggested with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, knowing it would annoy her to have followed incompetent experimenters.

She scowled but said nothing.

“Are you going to do it now?” He tried to keep the worry and sadness from his voice. If she succeeded, she would be leaving him. If she failed, she might be killed by the blast. Either way, he would lose her.

“Yes,” she said. “I need to get this done now otherwise I won’t be able to enjoy myself later.” It was her turn to smirk.

“Sirius was wrong, girls are only interested in one thing,” he said and looked skyward like a martyr. “If you must, I’ll let you take me one last time.”

“Git,” she smacked his arm.

“Ow! You’ve been spending too much time with us. We’ve clearly been a bad influence,” he sniffed. “Hurry up and make your time, so we can send you back home before the damage is irreversible!”

“Like I could ever get you out of my system,” she replied and yanked on his tie until his face was level with hers. She kissed him hard and stole into his mouth, claiming it as her own as he had done so many weeks ago during the Christmas full moon.

“Yeah.” He fought to find his breath when she finally let him go. “Bad influence…”

“I rather like it,” she insisted.

“Get to work! And don’t forget the shield charm,” he commanded and pushed her back toward the cauldron.

She pouted but didn’t argue. Her wand raised in a complicated move to form the defensive shield, which fell like a rush of cool water over them both, far stronger and more noticeable than the last time she had cast it. They inched closer to the cauldron, the contents no longer seemed volatile now that they were such a lovely colour and released a pleasant smell. Hermione would not be fooled. She looked on it as being even more dangerous and would treat it with the utmost respect.

A glass jar in one hand, she pointed her wand at the cauldron and gave a swift and decisive wave. “Tempore Confirmaro!”

A tiny bubble appeared on the bottom of the cauldron and began to rise slowly from the depths. Remus was poised to dive for cover, ready for that miniscule bubble to burst to the surface and set the whole cauldron to explode, but Mione stood calmly and watched it rise. If it exploded she could do nothing to stop it, but if it formed a crystal of pure time, she had to slip it into the jar immediately.

She kept her unblinking eyes on the bubble as it rose and finally reached the surface. It burst with a barely audible ‘pop’ and a minute grain was left in its place. Hermione summoned the grain into the jar.

“It worked!” she cried and stepped away from the cauldron so she could dance for joy without knocking it over.

“You really are brilliant,” he commented.

“I’d be brilliant if I could have found a way to granulate more than one minute at a time. I have to do this at least one hundred and nineteen more times,” she sighed and went back to the cauldron.

She repeated her actions, pointing her wand at the potion while saying the charm, “Tempore Confirmaro!” Another minute passed as the bubble rose and a granule floated on the surface. Each grain took one full minute to form. After thirty minutes, Hermione had to summon a stool to sit on while she waited. She could not stop for a rest; once the foul smelling scum was removed, the potion was exposed to the impurities drifting in the air and there was a chance it might become contaminated and lose potency. Tainted time granules would be useless to her.

Minute after minute passed as minute after minute solidified and was transferred to her temporal bubble, the glass jar which she had charmed to keep time frozen. The granulated minutes would remain strong little kernels of time so long as they remained inside the jar.

Remus went from pacing worriedly, to standing back nervously, to sitting back with mild interest. The concept was fascinating, but having to watch the same actions and hear the same spell repeated consecutively one hundred and twenty times was, quite frankly, ass-numbingly dull. It was clear Hermione was not in any danger after the first thirty minutes of time were safely in the jar, everything afterward was anticlimactic.

A quick jar swap and Hermione was still at it. Another trade and she kept going. She was getting hoarse and tired of the sound of her own voice. One final switch of the jars and she was on the final hour of minutes. She had her required number of granules, but wanted to make a few more just in case. She was crystallising another two hours’ worth. 

“What do we do with the potion now?” Remus asked quietly.

“Get rid of it,” she said as she placed the last charmed jar on the table top. “I have four hours of time, I don’t need it anymore.” She waved her wand and cleaned the cauldron.

“Not very exciting after all the threats of blowing up,” frowned the boy.

“I thought so, too.”

He leaned over and looked into the jars. There were four, each containing an hour of time. It looked like nothing more than common sand, though it did sparkle a bit when the light hit it. The jars had a puzzling aroma pouring from them; it smelled nothing like the potion, not floral, but it was crisp, like the smell of new shoes or a loaf of bread straight from the oven. It did not actually smell like either of those things, but it reminded him of them. It was the time, filled with potential and freshness. That, more than the threat of explosion or seeing theoretical magic made real, was the most exciting thing he could imagine. Unlimited potential in a single grain of sand.

“What now?”

“I have to melt an hour of sand into glass to form the hourglass for the Time-Turner,” she said. She narrowed her eyes at the jars, as if she were deciding which grains would make the best hourglass. They all looked identical to Remus, so he said nothing.

She selected a jar and set it on the table opposite. Pointing her wand down into it, she turned her head and closed her eyes before saying the spell. “Liquefio!”

A white hot flame like a blowtorch burst from the end of her wand, blinding Remus who hadn’t been prepared for the intensity of the light or heat. It broke down the grains and melted them into a hot mass of liquid that bubbled and boiled. Standing well back from the table, Remus could feel the heat of it and was surprised the jar itself did not succumb to the temperature of the melted time and her wand.

“Horarium Forma!” Hermione called and they watched the hot liquid moved around inside the jar like a mass of living jelly. A small column formed in the centre of the jar. The capital expanded like a balloon suddenly filled with breath, the base followed. A perfectly formed hourglass stood in the jar.

“Accio hourglass,” she said. The delicate glass flew up and landed in her hand. It was still warm to the touch even through the thick hide of her gloves.

“Compleo!” she commanded and pointed her wand from the granules in one jar to the hourglass in her hand. The clear hourglass filled with the sparkling grains of time as they vanished from the jar on the table.

She pointed to the box on a shelf. “The Time-Turner, please.”

Remus collected it with trembling hands and brought it to the table. He opened the lid and looked at the necklace. It was in worse shape for having met him; he had thrown it to the stone floor when he last saw it, shattering the already damaged glass and denting the starry housing.

“Reparo,” he said and pointed his wand at it. The gold straightened, but there was no saving the glass or grains. They were as good as sand.

Hermione brought the new hourglass to the box. Her confident fingers made quick work of securing the glass to the Time-Turner with fidgety little clasps and a magical binding, and she lifted the magical device by the thin gold chain. It looked as it had the first time Professor McGonagall gave it to her. She looked at it with the same reverence that had angered him in December; this time it brought sadness to him.

“I should test it,” she said in a low voice, as if a loud voice might ruin the newly formed glass.

“Just you?”

“Well, if it doesn’t work or breaks, it could leave us stranded,” she replied pragmatically. She was not his girlfriend now, but a careful experimenter intent on completing her work by the book.

“Of course,” he nodded. “Where will you go? I mean… when will you go?”

She considered it. Normally, she only travelled backward an hour or so, but doing that would bring her back to this room where she had been casting a spell on a dangerous potion. The rules of time travel still applied; she could not be allowed to see herself, so she could only go forward. “I’ll skip an hour. That will make it dinner time and I’ll know for sure it’s worked.”

“Good. I’ll meet you at dinner in an hour, then,” he said, a small strange smile on his lips.

The smile worried her. It was like he was saying goodbye before she was even leaving. She rushed forward and kissed him, pulling the disconcerting smile from his face and replacing it with a loving and content one. If something went wrong that would be the last thing she wanted to see. Her eyes locked onto his, she spun the hourglass once and watched as he paced in fast forward, poked at the jars and finally left the room. She came to a stop, dizzy and a little nauseous, but in one piece and in the same place she had been before. Though not the same time.

 

 


	43. Breaking the Rules

It had been the longest hour of Remus’s life. He had watched his girlfriend vanish before his eyes, afraid that it would be the end of her. She was brilliant, but what if that wasn’t enough? He didn’t know the magic governing time travel and could only speculate as to how bad it would be if something went wrong. Being trapped in a far distant time was nothing to the thought rotating in his brain that she could be trapped between minutes, living just a half second ahead of him, unseen. He had paced the room for twenty minutes before contemplating making a Time-Turner of his own to go rescue her. Finally, he decided he was being an idiot. Hermione was properly clever and she would be there at dinner. He left and went to the Great Hall.

He was there one hour after she had spun the hourglass. His eyes locked on the entrance, waiting for her to walk through unharmed. The Marauders had tried speaking to him, but when he did not acknowledge their words or respond to the slaps to his head, they gave up on him.

A flash of blue through the sea of black and Remus was on his feet. He ran to the door and saw her, whole and smiling.

“It worked,” she said.

He pulled her tight against him. It worked. The end was here.

His stomach turned and he didn’t think he would be able to hold his food down, but he led Mione to the Gryffindor table to sit beside him. She was an hour behind him, but still managed to eat her fill. She looked over and saw he wasn’t eating.

“You’re not going to starve yourself again, are you?” she asked, worried.

“No, I just made myself sick while you were…” he searched for an appropriate code or euphemism, “in transit.”

“Well, I’m fine. It worked, so you had better eat,” she narrowed her eyes at him.

Sirius leaned in closer to join their conversation. “It worked? You’re all set to head home?”

“I have everything I need,” she assured him.

“And on the first try, too,” a smile pulled at his mouth, “Isn’t that lucky?”

“Lucky?” she considered his choice of words odd, especially when paired with his devious smile. She noticed how Remus glared at him and ducked his head when she turned to look at him. “Remus Lupin! How could you?”

“What?” He looked innocently at her, but those wide blue eyes could not fool her.

“You swore to me you wouldn’t steal that potion! I didn’t believe Snape when he said it, but he was right!” She was livid, but still managed to sound infantile when she shouted, “You promised.”

Remus held his hands up in surrender, “I didn’t steal anything.”

“I did,” Sirius cut into her anger with a grin. “And I think you owe me a ‘thank you’.”

Mione flushed at the suggestion. She remembered the kind of ‘thank you’ Remus said he wanted for giving her the Felix Felicis, though she couldn’t imagine Sirius wanting the same. 

“Let’s hear it,” he insisted. “‘Thank you, Sirius. Without you, I would be a pile of smoking ashes.’ Although, if you have a better way of showing thanks, I would gladly accept it. I’m guessing by your lovely colour and the look on Moony’s face that you two had some other arrangement planned…”

Mione wanted to slap him. He enjoyed humiliating her far too much. “Thank you, Sirius. Without you, I would be a pile of smoking ashes,” she parroted his words with no small amount of sarcasm and spite.

“No, no,” he waved his hand. “Don’t mention it.”

“Git,” Remus said.

“So, will you look at all this extra Liquid Luck,” Sirius held up the vial. “Whatever shall we do with it?”

“I have a thought,” James said and looked down the table to Lily Evans.

“You don’t need that,” Mione assured him.

“Still, I’d hate to leave it to chance.” He grabbed the vial from Sirius’s hands, and, before the Animagus knew what happened, James had downed the last of the potion.  “Wish me luck,” he smirked, pushed up from the bench and walked over to Evans. The redhead blushed and nodded to whatever it was James had said, and watched his backside with glittering eyes as he strolled back to his own seat and sat down with a grin.

“Guess who has a date this Saturday with the future Mrs James Potter. You’ll never guess.”

“That was cheating,” Mione insisted through tight lips. The prefect in her screamed that he couldn’t do such a thing, and the self-righteous feminist in her agreed whole-heartedly.

“Not really,” Sirius grinned. “I gave you the whole vial this morning.”

“What?” James and Mione chorused.

“You bastard! What did you give me?” James jumped across the table, knocking goblets and plates aside in his rush to strangle Sirius. He was a fraction of an inch from the boy’s throat when Remus hauled him back.

“Pumpkin juice,” Sirius smiled, not at all disturbed that his best friend had attempted to strangle him. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice the taste.”

“You fucking bastard,” James glowered.

“You do know what this means, don’t you?” He waved the empty vial at James and smiled smugly. “She said ‘yes’ without any magical interference. You got the girl all on your own.”

“I did, didn’t I?” James’s face was cut in half by a wide and stupefied grin. “You’re the best, Padfoot.”

They all watched James for some time; his blissful expression a complete contrast to the red-faced anger that had nearly ended Sirius’s life. His mood swings were as abrupt as Moony’s before a full moon.

“You’re going to miss all this,” Sirius said to Mione.

“Not really, you’re just the same,” she said with a little smile. She did not need to clarify, Sirius knew who she meant and it made him smirk to know that Harry would be just as stupid as his father. Remus had insisted the boy would be different, modest, and Sirius thought that might mean he was dull, but if he was half as idiotic as James, then Sirius would have a grand time being the kid’s Godfather.

“I can’t wait to meet him,” he smiled. Mione looked away without comment as she often did when Sirius or James mentioned the future. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but hoped it was just her way of avoiding changing things. He said nothing, and opted, instead, to pelt James with peas.

“Would you like to go back to the Lupin family farmhouse after dinner?” Remus asked her quietly.

“Very much,” she said.

It was her last night in his time, and he wanted to horde every precious minute with her that he could. Dumbledore’s letter had not read when the man pretending to be Mione’s father would appear; he might be there at breakfast the next morning to take her away, and they had already lost too much time to the speculations and overbearing inquisitiveness of their classmates. He wondered if she would be willing to turn back time for a few more hours before she left, but didn’t think she would consider meddling with the time any more than she already had.

Sirius pushed himself up from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s something I need to work on.”

“What’s that?” James asked as he picked peas from his hair.

“Just an essay I need to work on,” Sirius said and waved his hand vaguely. James frowned and tried to think of an essay that was due. None came to mind, but Sirius was already gone.

“Should we go, too?” Mione asked.

Remus nodded and they left the Great Hall while all eyes watched Reginald’s Ravenclaw girlfriend march toward the Gryffindor table; it would be an epic battle, one for the history books. Students would still talk about it twenty years later when Hermione was a sixth year. Mione hugged Remus’s arm as they walked, neither one at all concerned about Reginald or his girlfriends or history books. They were only concerned with one another.

“You’re very quiet,” Mione commented as they waited for the moving staircase to find the right landing.

“Thinking,” he said simply.

“About me, I hope.”

He laughed, “Yes, about what will happen tomorrow and the day after. About what you will do back in your time, if you’ll remember me. Do you know me when I’m not your teacher anymore?”

“Yes, we talk, though not much,” she replied. “I suspect it will be very strange when we meet again.”

He nodded. Maybe she was not going to take his memories away as Sirius suspected. Oddly, he was not comforted by this idea. It would be dangerous to the both of them if she left them in place. It was bad enough she had dug into his chest and taken half his heart away, but to have her leave him incomplete and aware of the pain for twenty years would be too much. He didn’t know what to say, if it would be right to bring it up and ask her to modify his memory.

She opened the door to his great-grandmother’s kitchen. More often than not, this was where they met when they managed to slip away from prying eyes. She loved the kitchen even more than the bedroom she had added onto the farmhouse, though for very different reasons. It was in this kitchen that she realised she loved Remus. And while she had battled Death Eaters and seen a basilisk with her own eyes, she was too scared to reveal this information. He would use it to ask her to stay, and she didn’t think she had the strength to say ‘no’.

Remus was surprised when she broke from him and ran to the bedroom, closing the door. He went to the battered door with its flaking layers of paint and knocked gently. “Hermione?”

It took a moment, but the door opened and she was smiling bashfully. “Sorry, had to do something.”

“Right,” he said, confused but not willing to spoil their last evening together by asking questions that would only annoy her.

She took hold of his hands and pulled him to the bed, still enormous in the facsimile of the cosy cottage room. They fell onto the soft mattress and spent the rest of the evening thoroughly enjoying one another’s company. Remus was so caught up in the pleasure of her mouth and legs and arms and breasts and the way she called his name and lifted them both off the bed when his clever fingers found their target that he didn’t hear her crying in the other room. As she lay with Remus on their final afternoon together, she lay alone in the washroom curled in a tiny ball washing the floor with her breaking heart.

She would cry through dinner and into the night before turning the clock back to just after lunch when she met Remus at the bedroom door. It was foolish to travel further back, she knew, but she could not leave him standing on the other side of the door trying to comfort her. The brave face was the one she wanted him to see, just as the last look on his face that she wanted to remember was one of love and not worry or pain.

“I don’t want to leave,” Remus admitted, “but I’m really hungry.”

“Serves you right for not eating anything at lunch,” she told him.

“Can’t we just summon food here?” he whined and buried his face in her hair. He loved her hair; it was beyond soft and tickled everywhere it touched and smelled like flowers. He hated that she ever changed it to become Mione, but was filled with warmth that he was the only one able to touch it. Sirius and James had seen it, but they had no idea how wonderful it felt.

“No, I have to keep up appearances,” she said. “And you have Astronomy.”

“Yes, right,” he groaned and found his trousers. “Classes. School would be great if it weren’t for the classes.”

“Says the future teacher.”

“And what are you going to be, then?” He demanded playfully. “If ever there was someone destined to be a teacher, it’s you.”

“Perhaps,” she said thoughtfully. She had been so focused on the immediate dangers of her time and necessity of defeating Voldemort that she had not put very much thought into her future. With her grades and abilities, it would not be difficult to pursue a career in any field, but she had always wanted a job she could look forward to. She had seen how her father often has to force himself to go to the surgery in the mornings, he so disliked being a dentist; it paid the bills and gave them ample money to live well and holiday in Europe, but she didn’t think the money made up for how sick it made him to keep at a job he hated.

“I think,” she said after a considerable pause. “I’d like to help make the world better for magical creatures. I tried helping the house-elves in my fourth year, but it didn’t do much good.”

“Help the house-elves?” He said with a small disbelieving laugh.

“They are born into slavery and think that’s a good thing! They don’t _want_ to be free because they have been trained to think it’s a horrible fate! They are magical creatures and deserve our respect,” she insisted, almost angrily. She had been through this countless times with Ron and Harry.

“You’re making me feel bad that I had them bring us food here,” Remus said, only half-joking. A witch as clever as Hermione could see through the centuries of tradition that blinded most witches and wizards to the reality of how they treated their fellow beings. He knew it first hand, being a werewolf, but he had never transferred that onto any other creatures. If she said house-elves were slaves, then he believed her.

“I thought about trying to influence the younger generation of house-elves to demand their rights, but I think that would go against Dumbledore’s rules,” she muttered.

“Doubtless, but then so does the two of us sleeping together,” he pointed out as he slipped his shirt on. It caught the partially dried blood running down his back from where Hermione had dug her fingernails into his skin. He winced but didn’t want to heal the marks.

“Well, if you’re going to complain, perhaps I ought to go back a few months and warn myself to stay away from you,” she threatened with a wicked smile on her face as she pulled the Time-Turner from beneath her dress and made an exaggerated move to turn the glass backward.

“Give me that!” He jumped across the bed and caught her around the waist. A quick tug had her back on the rumpled sheets and they quite forgot about arriving in a timely manner to dinner in the Great Hall.

 


	44. Observance

“Nice of you to join us,” Sirius said politely as Remus sat down at the Gryffindor table. Mione was being welcomes with hugs across the aisle at the Hufflepuff table. Everyone knew she was leaving the next day. They also knew what she had spent the last few hours doing and with whom.

“Lost track of time,” Remus muttered and tore into the jacket potato and roast on his plate. House-elves had worked without pay to make this meal. He wanted to push it away in protest or at least not enjoy it, but he was starving and it was delicious, so he showed his appreciation for their hard work in the only way he knew how.

“Worked you overtime, I see,” Sirius commented.

“Fuck off,” Remus said between mouthfuls.

“Oh, that’s nice,” he said, tossing his hair back and pretending that he was about to cry from his friend’s harsh words.

“What’s up with your hand?”

Sirius dropped the act and looked at his hands. The fingers of his right hand were stained with ink. “I was writing an essay.”

“We haven’t got any essays due.” Remus looked at him sceptically. He could always tell when Sirius was up to something. The boy always acted too calm and innocent, and he would throw his hair into his eyes to keep anyone from being able to look too deeply.

“Maybe I asked for extra credit,” Sirius shrugged and tossed his head so his hair fell over his face. “Your girl is quite inspiring.”

“Right,” he narrowed his eyes but didn’t call the boy out. If he was writing something in secret and refusing to mention it, Remus suspected it was a letter to Harry all about the boy’s father. James had forbidden him to write, but Sirius never cared much for rules, even those imposed by his friends.

James was there beside him but apparently useless for conversation. He was alternating between staring blankly into space with a lazily joyous look on his face and sending less-than-secret glances down the table to Lily Evans. Lily blushed a great deal during dinner that night and was amazed at the effect her attention had on the formerly braggadocios Chaser.

At least Hermione’s presence in the past had ensured the birth of her best friend. Like Sirius, Remus wondered what the boy would be like. He knew more about the boy’s brutal childhood than any of the other Marauders, but he only had a couple of photographs and Hermione’s descriptions to help him build a mental picture of what he would be like. He was looking forward to meeting him in the classroom and telling him about his father. If only he could hold onto the memories long enough to keep James and Lily alive, he might not have to tell the boy; Harry could know them for himself.

Remus clenched his fists under the table and closed his eyes tightly. This was exactly the reason she had to wipe his memory clean. Knowing that James and Lily were going to die when Harry was a baby was dangerous information. He wanted to save them, but doing so would change everything that came after and affect more than just the little Potter family.

Hermione had not said it, but Remus knew that if Voldemort killed Harry’s parents and turned his wand on the infant then it was because Harry was a danger to him. If anything happened to change Harry’s life, it would change their whole world. James would have to die, as would his wife.

“What’s with that face?” Sirius asked.

“Nothing,” Remus said, but sounded as if it were everything. “Sirius, I need you to do something for me.”

The boy looked at his friend’s hard expression and nodded, “Anything.”

“The box under my bed,” Remus said, “destroy it for me. I can’t do it.”

Sirius stared at him, lost for the sudden change to his plan. “But what if she—”

Remus just shook his head. It didn’t matter. It was too dangerous for him to remember.

“If that’s what you want, I’ll take care of it,” Sirius promised.

“Thanks,” Remus said, his face not lightening with the removal of his burden. His eyes turned to Mione. She was looking at him, an expression on her face that he could not place. Did she know what he had planned?

Her friends, denied her company for the whole afternoon, only allowed Mione and Remus a brief kiss before they pulled her away for a farewell party in the Hufflepuff common room. The whole of Hufflepuff filled the room and partied as if they had just won the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup on the same day, though having never had the ambition or skills necessary to win either they could not know that the party felt that way to Mione. She sat in the chair of honour, the most worn and comfortable chair the common room had to offer, and accepted their praise and attention with a sad smile.

The party lasted well into the night and a few determined Hufflepuffs kept it going into the morning after even the guest of honour had gone up to her bed. The sixth year girls held a small and more sombre party for their departing friend in their shared bedroom. Gifts were given as well as addresses and promises that she would write and send photographs from Beauxbatons.

oOo

The morning light brought with it a sharp headache and a dull pain in Mione’s chest. The headache, a result of too much Ogden’s the night before, was remedied by a pain relief potion as soon as she rose. The ache in her chest was not so easily cured. No magical therapy had yet been discovered that could cure a broken heart.

She rose from bed early and took a long bath in the washroom, knowing she would never see it again. In her own time, she had the prefect bath with its massive tub and numerous taps filled with scented bath water. Clean and dressed in the Beauxbatons uniform, she returned to the bedroom and began to pack. It was senseless as she had no use for the spare silk uniforms or the addresses given to her, but she had to maintain the illusion that she was going home to France. Everything she had acquired for school or been given as a parting gift was placed in the trunk, which would be taken to the entrance hall when the man pretending to be her father arrived. She hoped he would come before breakfast to avoid a spectacle.

“You’re packed already?” Una slurred, still slightly drunk.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m going to go down to breakfast.”

The girl took the bag with her Potions textbook and notes with her just in case the man did not arrive until later in the day. She couldn’t bear to be thought of as a poor student and would not be caught unprepared. More than looking into the eyes of a werewolf or denying her feelings for Remus, pretending to be an average student had been the most difficult thing she had done in the whole six months she has been in this time. She looked forward to going back and being able to make her cleverness known without shame.

“You’re up early.”

She looked up. Sirius was sitting on the bench beside her, leaning with his back against the table and an ink-stained hand on her bag. He looked tired, as tired as Remus did following a full moon. He must not have slept at all the previous night, and his mood seemed to reflect that.

“What are you going to do about Moony?” he asked, his usual grins and winks gone in favour of serious conversation.

“He won’t suffer,” she said.

“You probably thought that in January,” he commented bitterly.

“No, I thought it would be less painful for him if I stepped away early,” she corrected, trying to keep the anger from her voice.

“So much for being clever, then,” he muttered under his breath and looked at her sideways, his grey eyes daring her to prove him wrong. He was goading her, trying to force her to reveal her plan, but it would not work. If she told him what she was going to do, he would probably try to stop her. He didn’t know a fraction of the truth about her; Remus knew nearly everything and he agreed she was dangerous to keep around.

The Sirius she had known would not have agreed with her, so she knew this younger version would not either.

“You are free to think what you wish about me, Sirius, but I’ve already promised myself he would not grieve my absence.”

She turned and focused on her book and her breakfast. He sat silently beside her, leaning back and toying with the ties of her bag until the other Hufflepuffs started to shuffle in and say their goodbyes again. Most were still feeling the effects of the party and smarting from the Quidditch defeat Gryffindor head dealt them the previous month and were in no humour to share their table with a Gryffindor. Sirius remembered the adage to ‘never badger a badger’ and left them to their breakfasts.

Reginald McClintlock was temporarily forgotten, and Mione Garnier was again the centre of the Hogwarts universe. Her every move was dissected like the play of a Quidditch match. She smiled at Remus (she was happy to see him), but it was a sad smile (she was pained to part with him). She laughed at Edlyn’s joke (she was going to miss the girl’s company) and narrowed her eyes at Sirius (she would not be sad to leave that boy). A separate group felt that the glare she sent toward Sirius was because she was secretly sleeping with him behind Remus’s back and the boy had threatened to tell his friend after she left; this was a tiny subgroup whose rumours were ignored for the nonsense they were. One particularly observant Ravenclaw actually counted the number of times Mione chewed her breakfast and reasoned that since she was chewing more quickly and less thoroughly it meant that she was eager to leave.

The opening of the grand entrance doors was a welcome distraction. Professor Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff, came into the Great Hall and went straight to Mione.

“Your father is at the gate, Mione,” she said in her usual loud and jovial voice, which carried throughout the entire hall. “He will be meeting with the Headmaster shortly. Finish your breakfast and come along.”

Mione pushed her plate away, hugged her friends and followed the Herbology professor down the aisle. Remus rose from his seat and walked after them, ignoring the whispers that followed him. He knew there was no Mr Garnier come from France to collect his daughter. The only thing she needed to leave was a turn of the hourglass she kept around her neck. She could do that the second she left the Great Hall and leave him without a word and with only half of his heart. His long legs brought him to her side just a few yards into the entrance hall. She interlaced her fingers with his and didn’t release him. Together they followed the plump professor to Dumbledore’s office.

The rest of the Marauders trailed after them. Mione’s continuous pushing of books onto Remus had them all convinced she would be leaving his memory intact. Not one of them could see the sense in telling him to learn things that she would be erasing anyway. Moreover, the time he spent reading the books she hoisted on him was time that he could have spent with her. Still, if she did leave his memory intact, he was bound to suffer from her absence, so she was clearly going to do something to him. If she planned to do something to the brains of their operation, they needed to know what it would be and how to undo it.

“Jelly baby!” Professor Sprout said to the gargoyle and it leapt aside allowing Mione and Remus entry to the spiralling staircase. The woman stepped aside and waved them on ahead.

“You there!” Professor Sprout addressed the boys who were hiding behind the suit of armour and the carved pillar just down the corridor. “Headmaster said you might follow. Go on, get up the stairs!”

“Yes, Professor.” “Thank you, Professor.” They said in overlapping mutters and ran up the stairs to find the office door open wide for them.


	45. Polyjuice & Promises

“Come in, come in,” Dumbledore’s voice called through the open doorway. He did not sound at all annoyed that the Marauders were there. Just to be on the safe side, James pushed Sirius through ahead of him, hoping that any annoyance would be vented on the first student the Headmaster saw, but Dumbledore smiled warmly and looked at them over top of his glasses, the omnipresent twinkle in his eye.

“I was so hoping one of you would come,” he said.

“Professor?” Sirius said, too confused to even form a proper question.

“Well, as I’m sure you have gathered by this point, our lovely Miss Garnier has no parent coming to collect her this morning,” he gestured for them to sit. He glanced up and counted the five students, then back down at the two chairs opposite his desk. He gave an embarrassed sigh and conjured three extra chairs for them. They sat, slowly and nervously, ready for the crafty old man to cast a spell on them at any moment.

“I had rather hoped,” Dumbledore continued, “to have the rest of the students see her father walk Miss Garnier to the gate.”

“But, Professor, you just said she has no one coming for her,” James pointed out.

“Very good, Mr Potter,” he said. “Can you guess what it is I might request of one of you?”

“A volunteer to play my father,” Mione said.

“Correct! The rest of the students will more easily accept your absence if they have seen you leave the castle grounds as we are claiming,” he said with a smile and looked at each boy in turn.

Remus shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “As much as I’d like to help, it was hard enough getting over the idea that I’m old enough to be her father where she’s from.”

“Quite alright, Mr Lupin. We have several other fine candidates for the job,” Dumbledore said and looked to James, Sirius and Peter.

“I’ll do it,” James and Sirius said in unison.

“You’re too short,” Sirius snorted. “No one would believe you’re her dad.”

“You’re too big. No one as tiny as her could have come from you!” James retorted.

“Gentlemen, please,” Dumbledore said and chuckled at their show of paternal pride. “Your actual appearance has no bearing whatsoever. Magic will make you look as the father of such a young lady should look.” The Headmaster turned his blue eyes to Peter. “Mr Pettigrew, I believe you would be best suited to this particular task. I doubt your friends have the ability to deny their youthful vitality, but you, I think, can.”

“Yes, Professor,” Peter said quietly, taking a good deal of pride from what the Headmaster had said about his ability to disguise himself.

“Drink this,” Dumbledore commanded and placed a goblet on the desk before him. The sixth years inched forward to see the contents of the goblet. The steaming, muddy liquid looked revolting and the hair floating on top was enough to empty James’ stomach.

“Polyjuice Potion?” Mione said. “But whose hair is that?”

“A lovely man from a village in France I had the opportunity to visit just this past weekend,” Dumbledore smiled and his eyes positively exploded with delighted twinkles. “The resemblance was striking, as you will soon see.”

Peter took the goblet in one pudgy hand. He held his nose closed to keep from smelling the potion, and bought the cup to his mouth. He downed it in one putrid gulp. The boys cringed for him but watched eagerly to see the effects. Unlike Hermione, they had only ever watched the effects in the photographs and illustrations of their textbooks.

“He looks like he’s gonna blow!” James said and covered his face.

Hermione had taken Polyjuice before and remembered it being one of the more disgusting things she had ever drunk. The effects had not been painful, but were quite gruesome to watch as the Marauders were discovering now. Peter’s flesh seemed to bubble and roll as it changed to look like the man whose hair Dumbledore had sampled. Peter grew taller as his fat melted away and his face lost its rat-like appearance. He was soon a man in his late thirties wearing a uniform that was both too large and too short.

Albus stood and waved his wand at the boy. His clothes transfigured into a gentlemanly pair of trousers and a button-front shirt with a traveling cloak. Then he added a beret just to enforce the idea that he was French.

“What do we do now?” Peter asked. His eyes went wide and a hand went to his mouth in shock. The voice that came with his words was deep and gravelly.

“He does look like your dad,” Remus commented. He had seen the Muggle photograph and this man could have been the same one in that picture.

“Très bizarre,” Mione muttered.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore said and clapped his hands. “Mr Pettigrew, if you would favour us with a turn about the room?”

Peter remembered why the Headmaster had chosen him for this particular task and did his best not to move like the teenager he was. His own father had a hitch in his step from an injury to his knee and hip. Peter imitated this as he walked from his chair to the door and back again.

“Yes, Mr Pettigrew, you are a natural,” Dumbledore assured him. “Now, I believe this as good a time for our parting as any, don’t you, Miss Garnier?”

Remus had been so amazed by Peter’s transformation that he completely forgot the reason for it. His face fell and his heart sank at the Headmaster’s words. Their parting, he had known it was coming and coming quickly, and he thought he was prepared for it. He wasn’t.

“Yes, Professor,” Mione said sadly. She glanced at Remus, but turned away from him.

“Mione,” James muttered, lost for words. He wanted to thank her for helping him win Lily, for letting him know he would have a son, for making him a better person, well, less of a prat, anyway.

She laughed and hugged him, “You’re welcome.”

“Oi!” Sirius tapped his shoulder. “What about me?”

“What about you?” James asked rudely, but let go of her.

“Mione,” Sirius said solemnly. “I’m sorry I made your life miserable,” James snorted, “but I was gutted that you chose that git over me. What is it? I have to know.”

“If you have to ask, you wouldn’t understand,” Remus said smugly.

“Git,” he muttered and pulled Mione into a hug. Much as he wanted to smirk over her shoulder at him, he couldn’t. Sirius was saddened by her departure, so he knew Remus must be hollow inside because of it. He couldn’t rub his face in it…too much. “You do smell nice.”

“That’s enough,” Remus pulled him away. “I already warned you about hugging, anyway.” He glared at Sirius, daring him to say something more about the way she smelled or felt. Sirius turned his back to keep him from seeing the smirk he could not fight down.

Remus looked at her. This was it. She had always intended to leave and he knew it. He wanted to go with her, to make her stay, to travel with her to the end of the Time-Turner’s limit and build a life together ignoring the ideas of the timeline and the damages they might be causing to it.

Mione watched his face as he considered and threw away each possibility. She wanted the same. She wanted to stay. She wanted to stay with him regardless of the when. She pulled him into a hug and stood on tip-toe to reach his mouth. It was more passionate a kiss than any they had shared before, deeper and hungrier because each knew it would be the last. James looked away embarrassed. Dumbledore’s eyes grew misty with the remembered pain of lost love. Peter watched hungrily. Only Sirius eyed the kiss with suspicion, wondering at what point her plan to leave Remus unaffected by her absence would start; that kiss was clearly not one he would forget anytime soon.

It took some time for her to build the strength of will necessary to break the kiss. She pulled away and saw the love and sadness on his face. The sadness tugged at her. She hadn’t wanted to see it, but she could kiss him for the rest of the afternoon and he would always carry the pain of loss on his face. He composed his face as she watched, fighting back the sadness she had already witnessed, and opened his eyes. He saw tears threatening in her eyes and a wand pointed at him.

“Mione?” Remus’s eyes widened as much in shock as in an effort to watch her eyes and the wand at the same time. “What are you doing?”

“I’m doing you a favour,” she said quietly.

“I lov–“ he began, but her wand glowed.

“Obliviate!” she cried.

The spell hit him hard in the chest and he swayed. His eyes glazed over as his memories of Mione were carefully carved from his brain by the charm. He grew so limp he collapsed, falling into a chair Dumbledore conjured to break his fall. Mione reached forward and caressed his face, kissed his forehead and whispered into his unhearing ear, “I love you, too.”

She turned her red eyes to the boy’s friends and stared them down. They were each of them taller and larger than the girl, but they shrunk away from her. She was stronger than them. Not one of them would have been able to deny themselves love to save the future. In that she might have been stronger even than Albus Dumbledore.

“You will never mention me to him,” she commanded them. James shook his head so hard his glasses fell off. Peter just squeaked, which did not suit the mature French gentleman at all.

Sirius just shrugged, his façade of cool firmly back in place. “Even if we swear it, someone else is going to bring up his girlfriend sooner or later,” he said.

“Rumours fly like bludgers around Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said without his usual humour. “A boy as smart as Mr Lupin will believe not a word of anything that is said to him so long as his friends do not corroborate it.” He levelled them each with a hard stare, boring into them the importance of their silence.

“Won’t say a word, Professor,” James promised for each of them.

“Excellent,” the old wizard blinked and when he opened his eyes the twinkle had not returned. He was as pained as any of them to see love denied. “In that case, Mr Potter, Mr Black, please see to the health and safety of Mr Lupin. Mr Pettigrew–excuse me–Mr _Garnier_ , please accompany your daughter and me to the entrance hall. I will see you off.”

Peter took Mione’s arm in a fatherly gesture and walked with her from the Headmaster’s office. He looked every inch a man who could have produced a girl as fine as Mione, and moved like one, too.

James and Sirius carried Remus back to their dormitory and laid him down on his bed. Sirius knelt down and collected the warded box. He considered what to do with it. Remus, before he had his memories stolen, asked him to destroy it. The boy didn’t want to remember. Sirius had never felt love like that. He felt familial love toward the Potters and James, and had to imagine what it would be like to have his memories of them removed. Would he want to remember them twenty years later and know what he had missed out on?

The dilemma would have to wait. Remus stole into his thoughts with a pained groan. “Oh, my head. What did you prats do to me this time?”

“Wasn’t me!” Sirius said and pointed to James before he could react.

“Just a memory charm gone wrong,” James said. It was only a half-lie.  “Dumbledore got you sorted, though.”

Remus frowned and knit his eyebrows together. “Memory charm?”

“Something missing?” Sirius asked. James elbowed him hard.

“I don’t know,” Remus replied slowly. “Ask me something.”

“What’s your girlfriend’s name?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend, you git,” Remus said and shoved him away.

“All right, then,” Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Who is Mione Garnier?”

Remus let his head fall back onto the pillow as he riffled through his brain looking for the name. “She’s the French exchange student.”

“Anything else?”

“You think she’s hot, but she won’t talk to you…smart girl,” Remus smiled. Then looked at James, “Prongs, a serious question, please.”

“What’s the date?”

“Third of March 1977, right?”

“Right,” the two chorused, dully.

“So I didn’t lose anything,” Remus said happily and stood. 


	46. The Time Traveller's Burden

Mione looked back at the castle and saw all the faces pressed against the leaded-glass windows. She waved and smiled goodbye. From their perspective, they could not see just how bloodshot her eyes were from fighting back tears.

Peter limped into view, turned and saw the faces. He nodded to them with a courteous smile, and managed to keep himself from making any rude gestures as he normally would have. Mr Garnier was a gentleman. Gentlemen do not do bare their backsides to windows filled with gawkers.

Professor Dumbledore gestured for them to follow, “Mr Garnier, Miss Garnier.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Mione said as she walked along beside him. “I’m sorry if I caused any trouble.”

“Not at all,” he smiled and assured her with his tone as much as with his words. “Your presence has been a delight.”

“I think there are some who would disagree,” she said, mainly to herself.

“Disagreements are part of life, I’m afraid,” he sighed.

The path led them around a bend and down a hill toward the main gate. There they were guarded by the topography, the bend of the path and a hillock of pine trees preventing anyone in the castle from seeing that the gate was not actually being opened.

“Goodbye, Miss Garnier,” Dumbledore smiled. “I look forward to meeting you in the future.”

“Bye, Mione,” Peter said, his gravelly voice betraying a hint of sadness.

“Goodbye,” she said and provided him with a hug as she had his friends. She still didn’t like the man he would become, but the boy he was now was someone she could learn to like.

She stepped back and pointed her wand at the hourglass. The small glass began to spin forward rapidly, rotating faster than seemed possible. She had calculated the number of hours she had to go forward to arrive at the exact moment of her departure, and it was nearly eight thousands rotations of the hourglass.

She watched Dumbledore Disillusion Peter and walk quickly back around the bend and up toward the castle. As sick as watching the fast motions made her feel, she kept her eyes wide open hoping to catch a glimpse, however brief, of Remus. All the students moved past so quickly she couldn’t make him out if he was there, and she had to shut her eyes or risk vomiting.

A breeze whipped at her silk traveling cloak and she opened her eyes. The crazed motion of time had stilled. She had arrived at her destination. Hogwarts was the same as it had been just twenty years ago. The day was not as warm as it had been when she was sent back, or perhaps her memory had made the day seem lovelier than it had really been. She was standing by the gate not the boulder near the lake as she had been the day Draco sent her back. She raced up the path, searching the lawn, but she did not see herself or Draco anywhere. If she had counted the hours correctly, she should see Draco Malfoy walking smugly back up to the castle, but there was no one. If the light was any indication, it was very early morning, not mid-afternoon as it had been the day she was sent back. Her calculations had been wrong, but she did not know how wrong.

Panic fuelled her sprint up the lawn to the castle. She ran on the balls of her feet, her high heels never touching grass or stone. The corridors, exactly the same as they had been in 1977, were dark and empty. No one, not even Peeves or Mr Filch, were moving. Most of the paintings were still asleep.

One portrait watched her run past, “I say, one doesn’t often see a Beauxbatons girl run through the castle in such an undignified manner.”

“One doesn’t generally see Beauxbatons girls in the castle, at all,” replied another sleepily.

“Fair point, old boy.”

Mione skidded to a stop before the stone gargoyle. “Jelly baby!”

“That hasn’t been the password in nearly twenty years,” it scoffed at her.

“I don’t remember the password!”

“Nah, ‘s alright,” it said and leapt out of her way. “Headmaster said that password was set aside specially for a Beauxbatons girl.” It continued even as she ignored it and ran up the steps, “Thought it was a bit odd myself, but what do I know…”

The great door to the Headmaster’s office was ajar and she heard Dumbledore’s voice coming from inside. Not bothering to wait for permission, she pushed the door open and went in. Dumbledore looked much thinner than when they last met, his robes were not so full and his skin did not appear as rosy. His eyes, however, twinkled with as much delight as they ever did.

“Ah, Miss Garnier!” Dumbledore smiled. “It has been a while. Your Time-Turner was a success, I see.”

She wanted to be polite, but she was worried that she had missed her mark by too much. “Yes, Professor, what’s the date?”

“The twenty-fifth of October 1996,” he smiled. “You were a bit off in your calculations, I think.”

“Has anything changed?” she asked, hysteria evident in her voice. “Did I change anything?”

Dumbledore paused. “Well, if you have, I’m afraid I wouldn’t know…”

“Right,” she said, realising the ridiculousness of her question. Of course he wouldn’t know if she changed anything, he would be as affected as anyone. Only she would know if something was different. ‘The time traveller’s burden’ the manual had called it and warned of madness if she attempted to change anything in her own past.

Dumbledore was still twinkling at her. “I did forget how lovely you looked in Beauxbatons blue, Miss Granger.”

“Thank you, Professor,” she said. It was so odd to hear her name again.

“I think perhaps a return to old form might be in order,” he suggested and transfigured her back to her old self with a few waves of his wand. “To help you regain your footing before you return to your friends.”

My friends, she thought. James and Sirius?

“Harry and Ron,” she said, knitting knit her fingers together to keep from smacking herself in the head for stupidity, “Are they alright?”

The wise old wizard laughed, “You have only missed two weeks by our calendar, Miss Granger. Not even Mr Potter and Mr Weasley could manage to get themselves into much trouble in so short a time.”

“Two weeks?” she muttered to herself. She had only missed two weeks, not six months. She was six months older, and they were nearly the same. “What do they think happened to me?”

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, “you have been at St Mungo’s for a particularly severe combination of hexes. Mr Malfoy has already been punished for his poor decisions, so I would ask you to keep your friends from retaliating.” His eyes glittered mischievously.

She made no reply, just muttered the explanation to herself repeatedly to help her remember it.

“She was far more polite as the French girl, Dumbledore,” a portrait sniffed irritably.

“The girl has a lot to think about, Phineas,” the Headmaster chided him. “You were here for her departure.”

The portrait of Phineas Black rolled his eyes like one of the teenagers he so hated having to teach, and let out a put-upon sigh, “Oh, yes, I witness it. And I think I’ll take a walk to clear the images from my mind, thank you.” The man stood and walked from his frame to that of his other portrait hanging at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. The people there were far more interesting and fun to irritate; the werewolf in particular.

“Miss Granger, might I suggest a trip to Madam Pomfrey to cement your alibi with your friends?” Dumbledore said.

She nodded. “Yes, Professor.”

The door was still open and she left without another word. Walking in trainers seemed so difficult after six months in high heels, and trousers rubbed her thighs uncomfortably; she would have to dig into her trunk to find a skirt to wear to class that day. She stumbled but not from the oddity of walking on flat shoes. She didn’t know what day it was or what class she had. It had been sixth months since she had attended these sixth year classes and she wasn’t even sure what they had last covered in class.

She was excused because of missing a fortnight to the effects of Malfoy’s ‘hexes’, but that didn’t make it any easier on the perfectionist. The thought of returning to her old academic form had been one of the things she had been most looking forward to. What if she did poorly?

She worried her way to hospital and fell onto a bed. It had only been a little after eight in the morning when she left 1977 and it was barely seven o’clock in this time, but she was exhausted. Feigning illness would not be difficult.


	47. Things Unsaid

Harry and Ron ran through the corridors to the hospital wing. They had seen the smug look on Malfoy’s face the day Hermione disappeared. Dumbledore and the other professors insisted she was fine, just hexed rather severely. How anyone could be fine when under a hex was beyond either of them and they were convinced she was in serious trouble.

At breakfast, McGonagall told them that their friend was in hospital and ready to see them and they ran from the Great Hall without eating.

“Hermione?” Harry shouted.

“Keep your voiced down!” Madam Pomfrey hissed.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Over here!” Hermione called, earning a disapproving click of the nurse’s tongue. Hermione knew she should not be shouting, but she hadn’t seen her friends in months.

Ron ran around the curtain first.

Hermione smiled at the sight of him. She remembered having feelings for him when she left six months ago; they had been building over the years and she had finally managed to identify how she felt about him,  but now it wasn’t the same. He was Ron, a friend, not Remus.

“Where have you been?” Ron nearly shouted. “Been worried sick, I have.” He did look slightly ill, far more so than Hermione.

“I’m fine, really,” she insisted, but she looked a little odd to Harry or rather she looked oddly at Harry. The girl had grown accustomed to James and his hazel eyes and cocky smile and Lily’s eyes in her own head. It would take some time to get used to looking at Harry again. She wondered what it must have been like for Remus stepping into Hogwarts and seeing James’s features worn by another boy. It took all her effort to keep her face from falling as she thought of Remus.

“Was it Malfoy?” Harry asked.

She furrowed her brow and concentrated on the lie. “That’s what I was told. I don’t remember,” she said.

“It was Malfoy, alright,” Ron assured her. “He’s been walking around the castle like he owns it. Giving Harry and me the biggest smirk every time he sees us, the git.”

She ducked her head to keep them from seeing her smile. Malfoy hexing her was not something they expected to see her smile about and they would worry for her sanity. Hearing Ron mutter about Malfoy being a ‘git’ reminded her of them, the Marauders. All her time in the past, she thought they sounded like Ron and Harry, now she thought Ron and Harry sounded like them.

“Are you alright to leave?” Harry asked. She looked fine, a little out of sorts, perhaps, but no worse than Ron did most of the time.

Hermione glanced around and shrugged, “I don’t see why not.”

Harry put his hand to her forehead and waited.

“What are you doing, Harry?” she glared at him.

“You aren’t going to ask for permission…you must still be ill,” he said and grinned, earning him a smack on the arm. “Ow! Okay, let’s go before Madam Pomfrey notices.” He picked up her bag and carried it for her, assuming the hex had left her weakened. She was moving oddly, as if she wasn’t used to walking in her own shoes, which made their escape less than the sneaky one they had intended.

“Miss Granger,” the nurse called as they reached the door. Ron swore under his breath.

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione replied politely.

“I’ve recommended to the Headmaster that you be excused from your Friday classes,” she said. “I suggest you take the extra day to rest.” She looked hard at the boys as she said this, knowing full well what a bad influence they were.

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.” Hermione hurried to leave before the nurse could change her mind.

“That’s not fair,” Ron grumbled. “You’ve already had two weeks off, and now you get another day without Transfiguration just because you woke up?”

Hermione sighed. “I was hexed, Ronald. I wasn’t on holiday.” She shook her head and gave it the old Hufflepuff try to march ahead of him in an irritated fashion.

“Uh…‘Mione?” Ron called to her from down the corridor.

She froze at the name, but remembered it was one he sometimes called her. It had been this diminutive that had been the inspiration for her pseudonym.

“Gryffindor tower’s that way.”

She looked back and saw him pointing down the corner she had just passed.

“Right. I know that,” she insisted. She had been marching to the Hufflepuff dorm, ready for a day of rest and revision of her notes. How could she explain? Would the hex be enough? “I wasn’t going to the tower. I was going to class.”

Ron made to feel the temperature of her forehead as Harry had, but she glared at him and he backed away. “Are you mental? You get free pass out of classes and you’re going anyway?”

She rolled her eyes and turned before he could see the nervousness on her face. Her schedule in the two times had been very different and she was having a hard time remembering which classes she took on which days and which classes were the reason for her wearing the Time-Turner. It was more than a little terrifying to think that the time spent in the past might affect her grades and memory in the present.

Harry and Ron led the way to class, filling her in on what she had missed while hexed. They didn’t bother telling her about the classwork, assuming she had already read the textbooks cover-to-cover at least twice. They were telling her about Quidditch and The Slug Club, which irritated Ron, and Ginny’s boyfriend, who annoyed Harry to no end, and Harry’s private lessons with Dumbledore. This last subject was whispered about so quietly she could barely hear. As they talked, she began to relax. The battle against Voldemort. It was her reason for returning, for turning her back on her friends and on Remus.

She had been trying to keep from thinking about him, but she couldn’t keep him out. He was in her head and heart. He was going to tell her that he loved her, but she silenced him with the memory charm. If he had said it, if she had heard it, she wouldn’t have been able to follow through on her long months of research and planning. If he had said it, she would have stayed.

Hermione wished that she had let him say it.

Class was slow torture. She was the centre of attention, much to Professor McGonagall’s irritation. Seeing the smirk drop from Malfoy’s face was well worth the whispers, though. The Slytherin’s nostrils flared in anger and she heard a sharp crack come from his mouth as he clenched his jaw painfully tight.

“Perhaps you should learn to read directions before playing with other people’s things, Malfoy,” she said lightly as she passed him in the hallway. Professor McGonagall was walking a few paced behind him and he could do nothing in response. That moment of spiteful pleasure would be the only one she had for some time.

oOo

Defence Against the Dark Arts was the class she was least looking forward to. Snape had figured out her secret and she could only imagine what he would be like now that she was back. Surprisingly, he paid her no more attention than usual in class, providing her with only a raised eyebrow when her hand did not rise with every question. He had heard in the staff room that she was back, though still recovering from her hex.

“Miss Granger,” he said quietly as they packed up to leave. “A word.”

She clenched her eyes tight and waited for it, for the inevitable smug gloating that he had known all along what would happen and she was too thick to see it. What he said, however, was neither smug nor expected.

“I’m sorry, Miss Granger,” he said.

“Professor?”

He took a breath and repeated, “I’m sorry. I should not have locked you in with the werewolf.”

Hermione had no idea how to respond; she didn’t think Snape capable of apologising to anyone for anything, let alone to _her_. “It’s okay…?”

“That was all. You may go,” he gestured lazily with his hand.

“Professor, there’s something I wanted to ask,” she said quickly before she lost her nerve. “How do you do it? Potions? You’re so good…I don’t understand.”

A pleased smirk pulled at his lips. He was quite proud of his abilities. “I suppose someone like you wouldn’t understand.”

“Someone like me?”

His smile turned mocking. “Someone who learns everything from books.”

She huffed. “You haven’t changed a bit!”

She stomped from the classroom while he chuckled to himself. “Neither have you.”

After the awkward reunion with Severus, her studies were not an issue. She caught up on the two weeks of assignments she had missed, finding the work even easier than it had been in 1976. While the coursework was easier, the schedule was not. She was amazed that the timetable she had managed so easily in 1977 seemed overfull and nearly impossible in her right time. She had almost no down time anymore, which she was very pleased about.

When she had an empty moment, she had time to think.

When she had time to think, she thought about Remus.

Ginny noticed before anyone else the way Hermione stared off at nothing with the saddest expression on her face. It was something she never used to do. In fact she used to snap at them if they zoned out while studying, but now she did it more than any of them, even more than Ron. After growing up in a family with six brothers, Ginny was an expert at hexes and their repercussions; melancholy longing was not an aftereffect of any hex she knew and she knew plenty of hexes.

“Hermione,” Ron said quietly, afraid she would yell at him for breaking into her thoughts, “you’re staring again.”

The girl blinked and looked back at him, confused momentarily, then looked back at her Potions essay and sighed. She had written this essay once already and hated to have to do it again, even if she was trying to get her grades back up to her usual standard.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I just can’t concentrate.” She stood and left them near the fire of the common room.

Upstairs, Hermione slumped on her bed, feeling in no way gladdened by her familiar room. The scarlet curtains that had seemed such a comfort in December were too dark to her now. The windows that she had so missed made her feel exposed. She longed for the comfortable Hufflepuff dorms.

“Hermione?” Ginny looked around the door and saw Hermione’s distress. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she said too quickly.

“You’re lying. I’m very good at spotting liars after growing up with Fred and George,” Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and looked for all the world like a miniature Molly Weasley.

“Really,” Hermione insisted stubbornly.

The youngest Weasley tried a different approach, a softer approach. She uncrossed her arms and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m pretty much an expert in hexes, Hermione. I know that after spending two weeks under one most people would be _happy_ to be free. You’re the opposite.”

“I’m—“

“You are not happy,” Ginny said slowly and decisively. “You weren’t under a hex, were you?”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. She knew she had been a bit mopey, but didn’t think she was being so obvious. “No, there wasn’t a hex,” she admitted.

“What happened, then?” the redhead asked. She saw Hermione’s posture change and turn rigid, panic filled her enormous eyes. “I will make an Unbreakable Vow never to tell anyone if it makes you feel better, but you need to get it out.”

“I don’t think I should say,” the terrified girl said.

“You’re going to give yourself an ulcer or something,” Ginny chided.

Hermione laughed. An ulcer seemed such a Muggle ailment, but she felt certain she would get one the way her stomach clenched and turned alternately every few minutes of the day. “You’re right.”

“Of course,” the fifth year smiled. “So tell me.”

“You’re right, Malfoy didn’t hex me,” she sighed, feeling the relief already. It only grew as she told Ginny when she had gone, who she had met and what had happened to her in the months she had been there. Being from a wizarding family and growing up with the idea of magic and its potentials, Ginny accepted everything easily up to the point where Hermione and Remus started dating.

“You dated a teacher?” Ginny wrinkled her nose at the very idea. “Did you kiss him?”

Hermione’s expression turned blissful as she replied, “We more than kissed.”

“Nasty!”

“We were the same age!” she cried defensively.

“No! He’s still _Professor_ Lupin!” She flapped her hands in the air with disgust and agitation, but the agitated motion abruptly stared at Hermione. “You love him!” she gasped in realisation. “That’s why you’re so unhappy. If you love him, why did you leave?”

Hermione sank back onto the bed, tears welling in her eyes. She had to explain it to them and to herself so many times, it was too much to have to do it again. The danger did not feel like a good enough reason anymore. She couldn’t focus on her school work, how did she expect to help Harry fight Voldemort?

Ginny hugged her until she stopped crying, but could pry no more answers from her with kindness or threats. She left Hermione to mope in peace, and mope she did. She lay on her bed, eyes shut tight wishing the memories to go away, but fearful her wish might actually come true. A worried thought crossed her brain. What if the trip back to the 1970s was a dream she concocted while under the hex? What if the hex was the truth and her love for Remus was the lie?

She scrambled from behind the heavy curtains and dug into her trunk. Books and scrolls and jumpers piled the floor as she dug deep trying to find the bag she had brought back from 1977. Hidden beneath a layer of clothes she rarely wore was a large bag stained black with ink. She lifted it out and hugged it to her chest, ready to cry with the relief it brought her. The dream was real.

Ignoring the mess she had made around her trunk, she climbed onto her bed and emptied the ink-stained bag. A Potions textbook tumbled out along with a ledger containing her Potions notes from her trip back. After that came a dozen rolls of parchment, three quills, a bottle of ink and a letter.

Hermione frowned at the letter and picked it up. It was a thick white paper that felt as if it was comprised partially of cotton fibres. She had never felt such quality paper and could not imagine anyone she knew writing her a letter on it. The scarlet wax seal held no imprint to identify the sender, so she turned the letter gingerly in her hands. It was addressed in a writing that looked familiar.

It read: ‘To the Honourable Mr Harry Potter.’

She considered it a moment and realised it had to be from one of the boys in 1977. One of them had slipped it into her bag when she wasn’t looking. Could she give it to Harry not knowing what information it contained? She worried that it might tell him about her trip back. But then, it might be something personal from James. Could she deny Harry a letter from his father, whom he had never really known? Never once did it cross her mind that the letter might be from Sirius and filled with swear words and embarrassing stories about the boy’s father.

Assuming it was from James, she carried the letter up to the sixth year boys’ bedroom and deposited the letter on Harry’s bed. He could question the method of its delivery all he wanted, but she would never be suspect. Still wondering about the contents of the letter, she went back to her own dorm to study her belongings and contemplate her fate.

oOo

After lunch, Harry ran up to his room to read the Half-Blood Prince’s book in private. Ron was getting far too nosey about it after his continued success in Potions class. He jumped onto his bed, sending the unseen letter flying into the air. It landed quietly on the floor beneath Seamus’s bed, where it would not be found again until June when it would be shoved hurriedly into Harry’s trunk in the mournful chaos at the end of the school year.


	48. Hiding Place

Hermione could not concentrate and it had nothing to do with the letter she had left for Harry. Every time she started looking through the things she had carried back with her, she thought of Remus. As she looked at the ledger filled with Potions, she thought of Snape locking her into that classroom with Remus. One of the scrolls was a Runes essay she had been working on; it made her think of his hip pressed against hers in class or sitting across from one another in the library. There was nothing in that bag that he did not have some connection to. Even the ink-stain made her think of him.

She threw everything back into the bag and tossed it back in the trunk, closing it with a satisfyingly loud bang. She pulled out her Charms notes, textbook and the assignment parchment. As she flipped through the ledger looking at her notes, she thought again of Remus. He had sat beside her when she learned this the first time in 1976. She had not been friends with him at that point in the school year, but she had still thought about him as she learned. It was when she was trying to remain aloof and keep from making any impact.

She laughed. All she had done was make an impact, but it seemed to have only been on herself. She was changed, not any of them. James and Sirius were still dead. Peter was still a traitor. Remus was still clever, powerful, dangerous and alone.

Voices, loud and laughing came into the room. The sixth year girls were coming to deposit their books before dinner.

“Hermione!” Lavender called. “Are you sulking again?” She yanked Hermione from the bed and examined her more thoroughly than even Madam Pomfrey had the other day. It was unnerving. She wanted to know what the girl was looking for, and hoped she wouldn’t see anything she was trying to keep hidden.

“You’re different,” Parvati said. The other murmured her agreement. “That must have been some hex you were under if it’s still affecting you. Are you feeling okay?”

“A little distracted, actually,” Hermione said. “I think I’m going to take a walk to clear my head. Excuse me.” She left hurriedly, knowing she would be the focus of their discussion until something massive and life changing happened at dinner as it always did for Lavender, silly girl that she was. Hermione missed the girls from 1977. She missed Edlyn’s calm deliberation, except where James was concerned, Una’s quiet encouraging and Pamela’s speed in offering assistance and advice. Tears filled her eyes as she considered never being able to speak to them again. Surely they were still alive; some of their children might already be in attendance at Hogwarts.

What made it worse was that she couldn’t even find a quiet corridor to walk down. Each one was filled with students passing between classes, dorms and the Great Hall. Without meaning to, she found herself on the seventh floor opposite the blank wall. She paced before it, letting it pull what she required from her jumbled mess of thoughts. The stone shifted and formed the gothic arched doorway and she pushed at the heavy wooden door to escape into whatever lay beyond.

Bees buzzed by purposefully as they collected nectar and pollen from the flowers that would later become tomatoes, summer squash and peas. The air was thick with the perfume of nature, and Hermione closed her eyes to feel the peaceful quiet and warm late-afternoon sun. She opened her eyes and looked past the blooms to the house ahead. It was a tiny stucco cottage, but it looked welcoming. An arched trellis, heavy with flowering vines, surrounded the faded blue door. It opened and a figure filled the small doorway.

The Room of Requirement would not have sent her to a place of danger, so she walked forward assured that whoever it was would be someone she could talk to.

“Hermione,” the man said. It was not a question and it was not a strange voice. It was the voice she most wanted to hear. She shielded her eyes against the sun to be able to look properly on the man in the doorway, but she needn’t have bothered. He was already across the garden, with his arms wrapped around her.

“Remus?” She asked, not daring to hope.

He answered her question with a kiss. It was unlike any kiss they had ever shared before, yet she knew his tongue and his taste. He did not ravage her mouth like a man denied what he most wanted for twenty years nor was he cautious of her reaction. He kissed her with absolute confidence both of his abilities and her response. It was a glorious betterment of what she thought could never be improved upon.

“Hermione,” he whispered her name, revelling in the sound of it.

“Remus,” she leaned into him. “How can you be here?” She clenched her eyes shut as soon as she asked, afraid that the Room would realise it had gone too far and would take him away. It was already surpassing its own abilities by giving her the Lupin farmhouse’s garden.

“Dumbledore lets me visit the Room whenever I’m here meeting with him,” he said quietly. His voice resonated in his chest as he spoke and she felt the vibrations against her cheek.

“Meeting?” She repeated.

“For the Order.”

“Order?” She considered his words. He was meeting Dumbledore on business for the Order of the Phoenix and was taking a moment to visit the farmhouse in the Room of Requirements. If he was a fiction of the Room, he would not have bothered with all that, which meant only one thing to her. “You’re really here.”

She felt and heard the rumble in his chest as he laughed quietly at the statement. “Yes.”

“But if you’re real, you shouldn’t remember me. Not in a kissable way,” she frowned and looked up at him. He was older than the last time she saw him. His hair was not just threaded with grey but thick with it. The scar was clear across his face and his eyes looked tired.

“Sirius never was very good at keeping promises he thought were stupid,” Remus smiled sadly.

“Sirius? What does he have to do with my memory charm?”

Remus smiled. “He was always smarter than he let on,” he explained. “He saw your plan coming and we found a way to keep some of my memories safe. I told him to destroy them…he didn’t.”

“How long have you known?”

“Two years,” he frowned, “maybe a little longer.”

Two years? She considered it. That meant that he had known since the end of her third year. “So all that time at Number 12?”

He smiled darkly. “You have no idea how hard it was not to say anything,” he confessed. “Not to act on what I knew.”

She blushed at the idea of Remus advancing on her at any time during that summer before she started her fifth year at Hogwarts. They had found themselves alone often enough for something to have happened. She had thought of him only as her teacher, and would have followed him into any empty room to assist him if he had asked. Had he been a weaker man, she would have lost her virginity to him twice. The idea was appealing to her now that she was in her sixth year and had spent so much time with him, but she didn’t think her fifteen-year-old self would have found it so pleasant. Remus, while a handsome man, was not the one she had been thinking amorously about at that time; that boy now interested her very little. Ron would forever be just a friend to her.

“You’re quiet,” he observed.

“Thinking…”

“About me?” he smiled. It was nearly a smirk. 

She didn’t want to ruin it by telling him the truth, so she just smiled. “Maybe.”

His eyes narrowed deviously. “I don’t have that many memories of us, but I do remember a very effective way of getting the truth from you.” He leaned down and kissed her lightly, as he had in the memory kept safe from her spell. She sighed and opened her mouth to him, giggling happily as his tongue brushed against hers. He removed his mouth from hers and brought his kisses down upon her throat and jaw, nipping and licking her pale skin expertly. “What were you thinking about?” he whispered and kissed the dip at the base of her throat.

“Just…the house,” she breathed out the lie. “I wanted to know…if my addition was still there.”

He smiled. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“When I took your memories away, I assumed it was gone,” she looked from his eyes to the house. “Did you save my room?”

“Go look.”

She hesitated, afraid to break contact with him for fear it really was all just an illusion provided by the Room of Requirement. He dropped his arms and made her feel rather foolish for clinging to him so childishly. She pulled her arms back and went through the door into the kitchen. It was exactly as she remembered it. The whitewashed walls glowed warm and golden in the low light of the afternoon and the vase on the table still held vibrant purple flowers. Her door was there, coated in layers of peeling paint. She turned the handle and pushed it open. The bed was there, massive in the tiny room.

“I thought I had exaggerated the size of the bed,” Remus said quietly from behind her. “Imagine my surprise to see it really was that big.”

“I like a lot of room,” replied Hermione, blushing.

“I remember that.”

“What else do you remember?”

Remus paused and considered it. “Well, I could either tell you or,” he lifted her up into his arms and carried her toward the enormous bed, “I could show you. Which would you prefer?”

“I always learned best with practical demonstrations,” she replied sensibly.

“I remember that, too.”

She could not hold back the giggle as he kissed her again. His evening stumble tickled her skin, but she wasn’t giggling because of that. She was giggling for sheer happiness. He was there and real and undressing as he kissed her just like when they were teenagers together. Instinct had her fumbling for buttons on her Beauxbatons jacket, but that had been transfigured back into her Hogwarts robe last week. She had on a jumper now. Much as she wanted to feel her skin against his, she did not dare break with Remus to remove her jumper.

Remus felt otherwise. He pulled back. “I refuse to be the only naked person in this room,” he eyed her jumper with contempt; it was standing between him and the sweet flesh he most wanted.

She caught the severe dislike he had for her clothes and managed to pull off her shirt and jumper together. Before she had time to worry that she was not what he remembered, his hands and lips descended on her. His hands, larger than they had been when he was sixteen, grazed her naked stomach and ribs lightly, feeling the tight skin and the movement of her breath. His lips, more skilled than they had been, claimed the firm flesh peeking out from the top of her bra. He had never done this before.

Back then it had all felt rushed. Everything they did had to be done quickly before he burst and left her wanting. They never had time for caressing or kissing beforehand. It all had to be saved for afterward, which she had enjoyed, too, but now that she knew what it was like she was disappointed that they had never managed to get this in prior to making love.

Making love with him now was everything she had imagined it could be. None of the self-conscious fumbling of inexperience; it was comfortable and smooth. He slid into her as they kissed, her gasp the only indication that anything had changed. His strokes were slow and confident, filling her with himself and bliss before pulling back. As a teenager he had been a coiled spring straining to keep from coming loose too soon and hurting her, now he was controlled without the effort. Age had brought him experience and with it he brought her to the most delicious climax they had ever shared.

Hermione wanted to be angry. She realised that the only way for him to have gotten so good was practice. Practice meant sex with women who were not her. The absolute bliss that filled her as they lay together was too wonderful to maintain any sort of indignation, and, she reasoned, he had probably taken his lovers before the memories had been returned to him. She smiled as he kissed her again.

Remus pulled back and looked at her grin. “What?”

“I was just thinking that if I hadn’t taken your memory, you would have spent all your time depressed instead of moving on. And you probably would never have gotten so much better at this,” she bit her lip as realisation crossed his face.

“So,” he frowned as he thought about how to word his understanding, “after I bring you to loudest and longest orgasm you have ever had, you are thinking about me in bed with other women?”

She blushed and slapped his arm. “Try modesty. It looks good on you.”

“Maybe later,” he smirked. “For now, I’ll be wearing my pride quite happily.”

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly, “You are the worst.

“As I understand it, I’m the best, better even than I used to be,” he pressed his bare chest down onto her and stole a kiss. 


	49. Mind the Gap

Even his already clever fingers had gone back for further education during the twenty years Remus and Hermione had been parted. She didn’t think it possible for them to have gotten any more skilled at bringing her to ecstasy, but she found she was quite mistaken. His slender digits played and teased her to near climax, before pulling back and toying with the skin of her inner thighs. He did this again and again, each time bringing her closer. It was like climbing the winding switchbacks of the Alps; he carried her ever higher, giving her tiny reprieves to rest and acclimate to the elevation, but never letting her come down. He carried her atop his clever fingers clear to the peaks, and the experience was breath-taking.

“Am I allowed my pride now?” he teased.

“Oh god, yes,” she gasped. “You can throw modesty out the window for the rest of your life.”

He smiled and pulled her close. It was strange being together again. He had lived almost eighteen years of his life not knowing about her, never realising anything was missing, but when the box unlatched itself and filled his living quarters at Hogwarts with a terrifying shriek announcing that the ward had fallen, it all changed.

He had been packing to leave, his tenure over since his condition had been revealed. The alarming noise made him jump and pull his wand out, but there was no one to defend against.

The box, which always sat on his mantle as a curiosity, had cracked open on its own after every attempt to open it had failed. He had never known what was in the box, but knew he did not want to be parted from it. Inside the simple carved box were a silver flask and a scroll of parchment.

He had prodded each with his wand, and cast a spell to reveal any hidden dangers. When nothing happened, he had picked up the scroll and pulled the string off it. As he unrolled the parchment, he fell onto his bed, knocked down not by the contents of the letter but by the handwriting. It was a barely legible scrawl he had not seen in over a decade. James’s writing. James had written him a letter and warded it in a box for him. Why?

It had taken him almost an hour to decipher James’s writing. Once he had managed it, it took Remus another hour to understand his meaning. James had always been a joker, but to plan a joke this long in coming to fruition seemed well beyond his motivation or means. He wouldn’t have planted false memories in a flask and then written this letter, it was not his style. To Remus that meant that James was serious when he wrote this letter, that he was serious when he said that Remus’s memory had been wiped clean by a girl he had once dated. The girl’s name, Mione Garnier, sounded far too similar to his most intelligent and dedicated student, Hermione Granger, and James did say the girl had come to them from 1996, which made it a real possibility that Miss Granger had been his forgotten girlfriend.

Remus had paced his quarters until his feet ached before he went down to his classroom. He sat at his desk looking out over the empty room, remembering Hermione sitting in the desk in the front row, her arm shooting up into the air before he finished asking a question; it didn’t matter what the question was, she was always first to know the answer. How would she have found her way back to his sixth year at Hogwarts? How could she have gotten involved with the boy who would grow to be her teacher? She should have been too clever than to get involved, yet James wrote that Remus and Mione were lovers.

He had stared at the flask, uncertain whether it would be better to just destroy it and pretend the box had never opened. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.

His friend had given it to him for a reason. James felt it necessary for him to know, to remember. The letter was dated from around the time James began to turn his character around, and that weighed heavily on his decision to put the memories back. He reasoned that Hermione wasn’t his student anymore and he was unlikely to have much to do with her in the future. He could not have foreseen Voldemort’s return to the life and power, nor the reformation of the Order of the Phoenix that would have him spending months together with her in the same grim house.

The lid of the flask cracked open, spilling out a light mist and an odd floral scent. It was her scent, part of the memories he had locked in the flask some seventeen years earlier. A silver strand clung to his wand and drifted in the air like spider silk caught in the wind. He had no way of knowing what the memory held, and wasn’t sure whether it would be better to insert it directly into his head or watch the events passively through a Pensieve.

He had taken the coward’s approach and placed the memory into a Pensieve. It swirled in the vessel, but gave no indication of what it might reveal to him. He had held his breath and touched a finger to the surface. His consciousness was pulled down into the memory and he had found himself standing in a bedroom, one he had never seen before. Remus was lying in bed, eyes wide and an arm around a girl. Remus saw himself, young and alive and real, but he had no memory of this. He couldn’t quite believe it was truth.

Tentatively, afraid of whom she might be, Remus had walked closer to the bed. The girl’s hair was a mass of curls. Remus imagined it would tickle to have that soft hair against his bare chest. He leaned in and studied the sleeping girl. Her eyes were closed and most of her face was hidden, either pressed against his younger self’s skin or buried in her own curls, but he knew her instantly. Hermione. He was in bed with Hermione.

He stumbled back, passing through the wall and into the kitchen of his great-grandmother’s house. He could not understand. That bedroom didn’t belong in the farmhouse, just as his student didn’t belong in his bed. How could Hermione have let that happen?

She came into the kitchen wearing a shirt that was too big for her. He wanted to grab her arms and shake her until sense and answers spilled from her, but this was a memory and he could not touch her. She passed through him and stopped by the small table to stare out the window. Bliss on her face, she was radiant, more beautiful than he had ever seen her look…not that he had ever considered her in that way, but had he bothered thinking of his student in any physical sense, he would have noted the marked difference in her. She was biting at her lip and smiling, then turned suddenly and hurried back to the bedroom.

Remus followed. He assumed there would be sex. Why else would he have saved this memory of them together if it was not to prove they were lovers by showing it in graphic detail? It didn’t seem right. He had never thought of himself as the sort that would focus so heavily on the physical aspect of a relationship, but here he was.

Hermione jumped onto the bed and hugged Remus while he slept. Her hands caressed his bare chest and began to venture further down. The observer wanted to turn away, feeling like he was intruding, but kept watching as Remus stirred and smiled.

“Are you hungry?” she whispered when she saw the smile on his mouth.

“Yes,” the Remus in the bed replied.

“There’s food in the kitchen,” she said, still speaking in a soft voice.

Remus watched his young self stir. “You’ve already been up?” The boy cracked an eyelid and looked at her, disappointment clear on his face. Old Remus felt the clenching of his gut as he imagined what the boy must feel knowing she left him while he slept, be he also saw the love in his eyes as he saw her wearing his shirt, a piece of him.

“I needed the toilet,” she said and wrinkled her nose like it was embarrassing.

“Now that you mention it,” he slid out of bed and stepped back into his trousers. “Where is the loo here?”

The memory had faded and Remus’s consciousness flew from the Pensieve and back to his body. He was breathless and gripped the table for support. The intimate moment he saw between them was more effective than any wild night in bed could have been in convincing him that James was not lying. They–Remus and Hermione–had been together and in love. Without any further hesitation he had taken his wand to the flask and had put the memories back into his head where they belonged. They were disjointed and didn’t fit with his existing memories of his sixth year and the vague notion he had of an exchange student that had never spoken directly to him, but somehow his brain managed to knit the memories together.

His nearly eighteen years without her, nothing to him before, now pained him. His heart ached for what he hadn’t realised was missing and his memories reformed around this vital piece that had been restored to him. Every moment he had spent alone, now seemed unbearable, where before he had not cared. Every second he had spent teaching her felt like a torture that he had not been able to touch her. He was consumed with guilt for every woman he had touched after she left him, and rage for every second she had spent in the company of another boy. She was only fourteen, but he didn’t care. He loved her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked him, seeing the play of emotions on his face as he relived his past.

“Just memories,” he muttered.

“Oh,” she said, unsure how to respond. He did not sound angry; he didn’t sound particularly pleased either. Yes, he had acted on the memories he had managed to retain, but she worried that the reality might not have lived up to his expectations. His skills had grown exponentially while she was exactly as she had been twenty years ago.

“Shit,” he said suddenly and completely unexpectedly. Hermione yanked the sheet up to cover herself, assuming he was displeased with their coupling. He saw her motion and laughed at her self-consciousness. “Not you,” he smiled and pulled her tight to him, annoyed that the cotton kept him from feeling her directly against his skin. “I was supposed to meet Dumbledore an hour ago.”

“Oh,” she said, fully aware of how she ought to respond. She was disappointed. “Do you have to go?”

He laughed again, more quietly and she felt it through his chest. “Yes, it’s Order business.”

“I have a Time-Turner, you know,” she offered suggestively.

“No, we’ve messed with time enough, I think,” he kissed her bushy hair and released her to find his clothes. He wanted to leave her with his shirt, something of him to wrap herself in, but he doubted the Headmaster would approve of him walking around the halls bare chested.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “I have an essay to write anyway.”

His back was to her, so she could not know his reaction to the simple statement. An essay to write. She was still a student, while he was well past such concerns. The idea made him feel the age difference between them. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought back the nausea that tried to claim him. She was still so young; regardless of their experiences twenty years ago, she was still just a teenager. She was dressed when he turned around with his face composed to hide his thoughts. Despite knowing what lay beneath, seeing her in the uniform jumper and skirt made her look like such a child. He couldn’t help but feel the shame of his actions. His parents, if they were alive, would be shocked to see him bring such a youth home.

“I’m curious,” she said, oblivious to his internal illness. “Why come here? We spent far more time in together in the library…or do you not remember that?”

He considered his memories. “I did know that,” he said slowly. “I didn’t come here because of us.”

“Why then?” she said, fighting to keep the displeasure from her voice.

He opened the door for her. “The farmhouse is gone,” he said simply. They passed through the kitchen and Hermione was shocked to know it only existed here in the Room of Requirements. “A cousin of mine, Hugo, sold it to Muggles about fifteen years ago. He won it in court from me, insisting a werewolf had no need of it. I never liked Hugo.”

“Hugo,” she mulled over the name. “Wasn’t that your father’s name, too?”

He nodded and explained as they walked through the corridors. “The Lupin family is an old one, not nearly as old as the Blacks, but still quite old. In wizarding families like mine names will repeat themselves. You’ll find a Hugo, Hugh or Remus in nearly every generation of my family.”

“I hadn’t realised it was so old,” she said. “What about your mother’s side?”

“She was half-blood, which might explain the tolerance of a werewolf,” he said and frowned. “Have we not discussed this in the past?”

“No,” she shook her head. “We talked about your family, but the age of it never came up.”

“Oh.” He was surprised.

 

 


	50. Guidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ginny is clever and Fred is helpful.

Ginny was fuming. Dean had started on her again about spending so much time with Harry. He just could not seem to grasp the idea of being friends with a boy, and his jealously was showing through. He had tried to play it off, acting far too polite and silly, which annoyed her even more. Harry would never be jealous if she were friends with a boy. He was friends with Hermione and there was nothing between them, so he would understand. She stopped, eyes wide and she realised she just wished Harry were her boyfriend. She hadn’t let that thought slip into her head in years.

Her eyes grew even wider as she spotted Hermione and Professor Lupin walk past. They were not holding hands or hugging or giggling; they weren’t even walking close enough to accidentally brush against one another, yet she sensed there was something between them. She knew they were _together_. She felt it like electricity during a storm.

Seeing them together like that, the disparity in their ages didn’t seem so important. They meshed, like she didn’t think two people could.

The pair was parting. They didn’t kiss goodbye like she and Dean would have; Hermione and Lupin held one another’s eye for a long moment, which seemed to Ginny something far more intimate than any kiss, and the fifth year averted her gaze. She knew Hermione was going back to Gryffindor Tower; Lupin was heading toward the stairs. Curiosity was gnawing at her like she gnawing at her own lip; she was dying to know what Lupin was doing, where he was going, what he would say about Hermione when he got there.

“To hell with it,” she muttered and pulled her wand from her sleeve. She tapped her head and Disillusioned herself. It was a spell Fred and George had taught her in her third year. There was much to be said for having brothers like The Twins.

She ran to catch Lupin on the moving staircase and fell into step behind him, careful to keep her pace identical to his. He was their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. If anyone could sniff out a tail, it would be him.

Normally, Remus would have known the youngest Weasley was shadowing him, but he was preoccupied with his own thoughts. The afternoon with Hermione had not yielded the results he had anticipated. They were together, but he was suddenly concerned that it was not the best course of action.

“Fruit Pastilles,” he said absently to the gargoyle, which leapt aside.

He walked up the rotating stairs and opened the door. Ginny followed, terrified that the Headmaster would hear her heart beating or see her through the charm. She ducked behind one of Dumbledore’s whirling devices and waited.

“I was beginning to worry,” Dumbledore smiled from behind his Pensieve.

“Hermione found me,” he said simply.

“Her memory charm was not as effective as we had hoped, then,” the old man sat behind his desk.

Lupin shook his head. “No, it was effective, but we were very clever back them–James and Sirius and me. Too clever,” he muttered. “I wish I hadn’t saved those memories.”

“Miss Granger did not look favourably upon your advances?” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with a strange sort of delight.

“Of course she ‘looked favourably’ on them,” Remus scoffed, hating himself. “But it will never work.”

“Why not? You love her. She loves you.” Dumbledore held his hands out like scales balancing their hearts and finding them perfectly matched. Ginny noticed the state of his shrivelled hand and slapped a hand to her mouth to keep from gasping in alarm; this was too important a conversation to interrupt.

“I’m too old for her, Albus,” the words hurt for her to hear, they sounded as if they were ripped straight from his chest. “It was childish to think it could work. I’m too old.”

“Twenty years is not so great a difference in the grand scope of time and the universe, Remus. Are you sure you won’t regret letting her slip away?”

Ginny strained her eyes and ears to observe his slightest reaction. She heard the small self-loathing laugh that escaped him as a breath, saw the tears threatening his blue eyes, and when he spoke she felt the pain of a lifetime. “What’s one more regret in a life filled with them?”

“Nothing at all,” Dumbledore agreed quietly, his eyes showing no delight or twinkle. “What will you do then? You cannot leave her to suffer. She had the kindness to erase your memories and let you live a life free of her.”

Remus nodded but said nothing in response.

“Excellent,” the Headmaster said, though Ginny couldn’t tell what was so damn excellent about it. She was against the idea of Hermione and Lupin together at first, but it nothing to do with how old he was. It was nasty to think of Hermione dating a teacher. She would have had the same reaction if she said she was dating any of the professors at Hogwarts, even the youngest. The spitfire in her wanted to rise up and yell at the pair of them, but she sat on the floor, Disillusioned, while they discussed horcruxes and acquired memories and spies.

If she had been able to register their words, they might have been concerned that she was among them. She was far too busy deciding what to do to pay their words any attention. If that nod meant that Lupin had decided to break it off with Hermione and wipe her memory clean, then there would be no true harm done. Hermione wouldn’t suffer. But Ginny had seen them together, she knew they were perfect despite any age difference. She could not let it go.

Dumbledore stood and walked around his chair. While his back was turned, she took her chance and sprinted to the door and out to the stairs. She ran all the way to Gryffindor Tower, afraid the Headmaster would be waiting there for her. As she skidded to a stop in the common room, looking around nervously for any indication that someone official was there and very angry with her. There was nothing.

“Thank goodness,” she sighed and removed the charm that had kept her safe from the Headmaster’s anger.

Ginny ran up to the girls’ dorms, bypassing her own room and climbing the extra flight to reach Hermione’s. She entered the sixth year’s dormitory without bothering to knock and found Hermione asleep on her essay. Ginny blushed as she imagined the girl and her former teacher getting reacquainted so vigorously that it left her that exhausted. Lupin was not so old that Ginny thought him unattractive or that she could not picture him being quite active in the bedroom. But she still saw him as Professor Lupin, not Hermione’s lover.

A tap at the window drew her mind from the gutter. One of the Hogwarts owls was flying in small circles, hitting its beak and wings against the panes, a letter tied to its leg. Ginny released the latch and opened the window wide for the owl to fly through. It landed on Hermione’s desk and pecked gently at her head to get her attention.

“Stop that!” Ginny waved it away. “She’s asleep. I’ll take it.”

The owl’s yellow eyes scanned her with suspicion.

“I won’t read it,” she promised.

The owl hooted and held its leg for her to take the letter. The sender had not been specific in who claim the letter, so it felt justified in letting the other girl take it. Ginny took the small scroll and stood back to let the owl fly out through the window. She peeked into the side of the scroll and saw Lupin’s handwriting, which she remembered from notes he left around the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

Hermione was still dozing atop her essay. Ginny poked the sleeping girl once to see if she would stir, but Hermione didn’t even mutter a sleepy protest. Scroll in hand, she hurried around the other side of Hermione’s bed where the heavy scarlet curtains would hide her. A spell, courtesy of Fred, melted the wax sealing the scroll shut. A second spell, this one from George, lifted the wax from the parchment and kept it in a molten ball floating in the air. She so loved her brothers.

The parchment unrolled itself in her hands and she read it quickly. It was a request that Hermione meet Lupin at the Headmaster’s office after dinner. The words were informal enough that Hermione wouldn’t notice that the destination was far from romantic. She would walk into his trap.

Ginny rolled the parchment back up and directed the hot wax back to its original location. It looked to all the world as if it had never been opened. She dropped the scroll onto Hermione’s pillow and left the room. There was someone she needed to talk to. She hurried to the fire in the common room, ignoring Dean and Ron and Harry. She threw a fistful of powder into the fire.

“Diagon Alley!” she said clearly. The fire glowed as green as Harry’s eyes and she vanished into the grate leaving behind a common room filled with confused friends.

oOo

“Ginny!” George called over the noise of the crowd. From the elevated platform he could see her come through the door. The girl had to elbow her way through to reach him. The shop had gotten even more popular since the start of term, word had spread quickly around Hogwarts and then to the students’ siblings still too young to attend. With Christmas coming fast, everyone wanted something special and Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes could certainly provide them with that.

“George, I need some advice!” she shouted up to him.

“I’d love to help, but I can’t leave. Fred is in the back,” he gestured her to the back of the shop and turned to the customer nearest.

Ginny pushed her way to the back and found a queue of customers waiting. They grumbled as she pushed past, commenting about how rude she was for jumping ahead. She ignored them and went through to the back room, where Fred was summoning Skiving Snack Boxes down from a high shelf and levitating them out to the shop floor.

“Sister mine!” Fred smiled and bowed to her.

“Drop it, Fred,” she said. “I need advice.”

“Is it Harry? Are you finally looking for the perfect way to tell the Boy Who Lived how you feel?” he smiled wistfully, though on him it just looked sarcastic.

“No,” she punched him on the arm of his overpriced suit, but she blushed as she did it. “It’s about Hermione.”

“Oh! Is she looking for the perfect way to tell the Ickle Ronniekins how she fells?” his eyes positively glowed with delight.

“Actually, I think that broom has flown,” Ginny said. “She’s found someone else, but it’s complicated. That’s why I need your advice.”

He stopped smiling and narrowed his eyes at her with deep and understandable suspicion. It was common knowledge among the Weasley clan that Fred and George gave the worst advice in the family after their late Uncle Bilius. “Why mine?”

“Because the traditional rules do not apply to this particular relationship and I need someone who can think past them to help me figure out what to do,” she said and watched him glow with pride.

“Step into my office, sister mine,” he bowed to her again, this time with absolute sincerity. 


	51. Return to Normalcy

Hermione was slightly confused as she knocked on the door to the Headmaster’s office. Remus had requested she meet him there after dinner. She did not see why he would want her to come to Dumbledore’s office and hoped it would not be for unpleasant reasons.

“Come in, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore called.

She swallowed hard and opened the door. There were a lot of things she had been thinking this might be about, but, looking at the sad expression on Dumbledore’s face and Remus’s rigid posture, she knew it was going to be worse than she had imagined. The Headmaster gestured her to a chair, and she sat on the edge trying to make herself as small as possible in the hopes of diverting their attention away from her. It didn’t work; they still kept looking at her.

“Why am I here, Professor?” she said quietly when neither of them offered an explanation.

“Remus had come to a decision,” Dumbledore said. It didn’t answer her question. In fact it created more.

She turned her eyes to him. He was leaning uncomfortably on the Headmaster’s desk, a sure sign of distress that he was being so disrespectful to the man who had made possible his education and, later, employment.

Remus could not look her in the eye. He focused on her hair, her mouth, her hands, every part of her but her eyes. “I’m too old for you, Hermione,” he said sadly. “I…It…I’m too old.”

Her eyebrows knit together as she listened to his words, but didn’t understand. Too old? “Remus, no, you—“

“Hermione, please,” he said and dared to look at her eyes. There were tears threatening and he had to look away. “Believe me, I wanted this to work. But the reality of it is impossible.”

“But—“

“Don’t worry,” he smiled sadly at her wringing hands. “You won’t miss me.”

“Why? What are you going to do?”

“Return a favour,” he said simply. He raised his wand and finally held her eye. “I love you.”

“I—“

“Obliviate.”

The charm sliced the memory of him from her brain, taking all the memories she carried of him as anything but a teacher. He fought back the tears and curses and violence that wanted to spill out of him, and settled instead for the briefest of touches. He reached out and let his finger brush her cheek. Her glassy brown eyes didn’t register it.

She groaned and blinked back to consciousness. “What?”

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore smiled as if she had only just sat down, and in her mind she had. “I wanted to see that you are adjusting well after your time under young Mr Malfoy’s hex.”

Hermione paused as a moment of confusion passing over her as she thought something odd had happened. Her head felt heavy, her thoughts slightly fuzzy, but neither Professor Dumbledore nor Professor Lupin seemed to think anything was wrong, so she shook her head. “I’m fine, Professor. I just have a bit of a headache.”

“Excellent,” he said and his eye twinkled. “Feel free to visit Madam Pomfrey. Now if you’ll excuse us, Remus and I have much to discuss regarding the Order.” He stood and gestured her toward the door.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Professor Lupin.”

His jaw clenched and he bit back the bile the threatened to rise as she addressed him so formally. He gave a curt nod and avoided her eye.

She assumed the Order business must be bad if the generally pleasant and polite Remus Lupin could only give her that much of a gesture. It was not personal, she knew, and left them to it. She was tempted to press her ear to the door to listen in. What they had to say might affect Harry, but she fought that particular desire and went down the stairs and back to her essay.

“All that debate and dilemma,” Phineas scoffed, “just for you to erase her memory. And you call yourself a Gryffindor!”

“What was I supposed to do?” Remus snarled.

“As they say nowadays, grow a set,” the portrait sniffed. “Afraid of a little gossip. Afraid of a little girl!”

“That’s just it: She is a _girl_.”

“According to the law, she is a woman,” Phineas disagreed. “Seventeen years old, of-age, a woman, free to make her choices. And you denied her that.” The sarcastic old headmaster shook his head and clicked his tongue.

Remus’s eyes flashed with a rage he hadn’t shown in decades. Had he a dagger handy, he would be shredding Black’s portrait beyond repair and enjoying every minute of it. He felt like he was bleeding, though he held no physically injures, and he did not need a dead old man telling him he had done the wrong thing. He already felt it.

“Remus, please,” Dumbledore said, not daring to smile or twinkle at the werewolf, knowing his life depended on his solemnity. “The decision was yours to make as Miss Granger already made hers twenty years ago.”

He nodded, but felt no relief. “I need to get these memories out of my head and back into that flask. I shouldn’t have put them back in,” he muttered.

“True,” Dumbledore agreed. “You should have let them vanish with Mione Garnier.”

“But–“ Remus looked up and saw the old man’s wand directed at him.

“Obliviate.” Dumbledore’s spell, cast through the Elder wand, was more powerful than Mione’s had been. The girl had to leave some residue of herself behind to allow him to slide through Hogwarts without noticing that something had been taken from him. Dumbledore was free to remove all memories of her. Now that no one was left to remind him that she existed, all traces of Mione Garnier could be stolen from the man’s brain.

Removing Remus’s last few hours at Hogwarts was easy enough, he just had to insert a memory of the man sitting in the office with him.

Remus blinked away the cobwebs and pushed himself upright in the chair. “I’m sorry, what was I saying?”

“You were mentioning Nymphadora,” Dumbledore said.

“Tonks,” Remus corrected without thinking. “She prefers to be called Tonks. Was I really talking about her?” He considered his erratic heartbeat and the tightness in his stomach. As old as he was, he recognised the signs of agitation and attraction in himself, but couldn’t imagine feeling them while discussing the spikey-haired Metamorphmagus. He supposed she was attractive in an unconventional sense. “What was I saying about her?”

Dumbledore smiled. “Just a passing comment about her skill as an Auror.”

“Ah,” Remus said. He felt that strongly about Tonks that a passing comment sent his heart clattering against his ribcage? When had that happened?

 

 


	52. The Dilemma

Hermione stepped through the portrait hole with every intention of heading to her room to finish the essay she had not yet completed. It was due in just over a week and she couldn’t understand why she had not already finished, edited and revised it. Her time under Malfoy’s hex had really dulled her academic prowess.

Hands immediately grabbed her and pulled her into a chair. She glared up at Ron, but secretly thrilled that he had touched her and dragged her to a private conference.

“‘Mione, I need your help,” he confessed. “I need you to talk Harry into letting me quit the team.”

She didn’t even blink when he called her ‘Mione, but her mouth fell at the idea that he would leave the Quidditch team. “What? Ron, no! You’re brilliant when you aren’t nervous. You just have to not worry so much.”

“How can I not be nervous?” he scoffed and slumped down in the chair. As he did, she could admire just how broad his chest had grown and fought to keep her face neutral.

“Hermione,” Ginny came over.

“Oh, good,” she looked up at Ron’s sister. “You tell him, Ginny. He’s a fine Keeper.”

Ginny smirked. “He would be if he’d stop letting all the Quaffles in.”

“See!” Ron pointed. “I’m rubbish. Explain it to Harry for me.”

Hermione stood and stared him down. “If you want to quit, you will have to explain it to him yourself, Ronald.” She turned and marched away, Ginny following her every irate footstep up into the sixth year girls’ room. “And to think I actually like that idiot!”

“So they did it, huh?” Ginny said sadly.

“What?” Hermione’s anger faded as Ginny circled her, appraising the girl. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Ginny sighed and dropped onto Lavender’s trunk. “There are times when I really don’t like Dumbledore,” Ginny admitted. “He modified your memory, Hermione. You don’t like Ron anymore. You like Lupin.”

“Remus Lupin?” Hermione laughed. “He was a professor! I wouldn’t go fancying a professor. Well, mind you, I did fancy Lockhart before he turned out to be a liar, but that was totally different.”

Ginny was shaking her head sadly. Even growing up in a magical family, she was amazed that magic could overcome something as powerful as love. She had seen them together and she knew what Hermione had with Remus was not some passing fancy or Electra crush. It was love, the real thing, the most powerful force on Earth, the thing that men went to war over. And Dumbledore had wiped it away with a wave and a word. Luckily for both Hermione and Remus, Ginny was the prodigal sister of the greatest troublemakers Hogwarts had seen in twenty years.

She held up a flask and placed it in Hermione’s hands. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you?” Hermione studied the flask. It was unremarkable. “Why am I thanking you?”

“For saving you from falling for my brother, for one,” Ginny smiled at the indignation on Hermione’s face. “And for letting you keep the memories of the man you really love for another. Now, please put the memories back in your head. And please think only of yourself for once.”

Hermione didn’t understand. She knew Ginny was not a trickster like Fred and George, so if she said the flask contained memories, Hermione believed her. It made no sense and she found the idea of being in love with Professor Lupin disturbing to say the least, but she put her wand into the flask and pulled out a silvery memory, putting it to her temple and letting it weave itself into the weft of her memories.

“Oh my god,” Hermione gasped and stared at Ginny.

The redhead smirked, “Told you.”

The sixth year grew more agitated as the memories returned to her head. That she would have lost all of it if Remus and Dumbledore had their way pained her. She couldn’t bear the idea of having lost even a single memory.

“When did you do this?” she asked, amazed at the number of memories she continued to pull from the flask.

“While you were busy drooling on your Potions essay,” the girl replied.

Hermione paused. “You broke at least three wizarding laws and five school rules, you realise?”

“Considering the complex nature of the particular relationship that was in jeopardy, I believe I was full justified in my unorthodox means,” Ginny replied. Spells and troublemaking weren’t the only skills she had learned from her tricky brothers; the twins were as adept at doublespeak as they were at hexes. All joking aside, she looked at Hermione, “I saw you together. You’re perfect, but I know neither of you would be selfish enough to try to save your relationship.”

Hermione frowned, wanting to argue but incapable of doing so. She had sacrificed their relationship; he did it again twenty years later. If they hadn’t a guardian angel as devilish as Ginevra Weasley, all remnants of what they had would have been lost.

“You took everything,” Hermione realised when all the gossamer strands had been replaced.

“Well, I didn’t want to look in case it was private and I didn’t know what you thought was important, so I just took anything with teenaged Lupin or from the last 24 hours,” Ginny made to shrug, but couldn’t with Hermione’s arms wrapped so tightly around her.

“Thank you!” she sniffed and fought the tears of happiness that were blurring her vision.

“You’re welcome,” Ginny laughed. “But there are two things I’m dying to know. How did they not notice that you weren’t in love with Lupin anymore? And if you’re so in love with him, why did you leave him in the first place?”

Hermione glared at Ginny where seconds before she had been hugging her with elation and endless gratitude. She could not satisfactorily explain how neither Remus nor Dumbledore noticed the difference in Hermione’s behaviour toward her lover, but she could explain why she left him back in 1977. The trouble was that Ginny didn’t like her explanation.

“It was too dangerous,” she sighed.

“Horseshit,” Ginny retorted. “You’re clever enough to find a way. Unless you didn’t really love him and didn’t really want to stay,” she narrowed her eyes to slits, daring Hermione to admit it.

“No,” Hermione said with forced calm. “I love him. I want to be with him, but there’s nothing I can do.”

“Horseshit,” the girl said again. “I think all that time playing dumb made you stupid.”

The sixth year matched the ginger’s glare and raised her a pair of crossed arms. “There were more important things than him or me to be dealt with. I had to come back to help Harry defeat Voldemort. That is more important than a broken heart.”

Ginny saw her crossed arms and raised her a question, “Do you believe Harry will win?”

A small, involuntary flinch flit across Hermione’s face at the sudden query, and Ginny saw it. That flinch was her tell. Ginny knew what buttons to push now. Hermione had lost, she just hadn’t realised it yet.

The girl insisted, “Of course, but—“

“Do you think Harry’s stupid?” Ginny pressed.

“No, but—“

“Do you think that you’re the only one capable of learning a spell or waving a wand?”

“No, but—“

“So what you’re really saying,” Ginny said with a cold smile, “is that you want to be the only one smart enough to help Harry win. You want to be the brains behind the Boy Who Lived.”

It was the Straight Flush, Ginny’s hand won. Hermione’s eyes fell. She remembered that feeling of sadistic hope that she would find herself in a future of Voldemort’s making because she had not been there to help Harry defeat him.  She remembered the vanity that wanted Harry’s chances of winning to fall to zero if she wasn’t there to do the research and complicated spells for him. It was twisted and wrong and should never have entered her head, but it was there. And Ginny saw it.

“If you love him,” Ginny said quietly, “If you want to be with him then you, the cleverest witch of your age, could find a way. You know what your friends are capable of, even if you aren’t there to help them. You know who is going to win. You know.”

Hermione just nodded.

“So that means you have a choice to make,” Ginny said simply, leaving Hermione to consider her options.

Hermione watched Ginny leave, her mind considering the options she had before her. She wanted happiness, but she didn’t want to abandon her friends. She dug her nails into her scalp and growled her frustration at the empty room. It was tempting to go back three weeks and keep Malfoy from touching the Time-Turner at all, but the curse of the time traveller would still be with her. She would remember even if the Hermione of three weeks ago never went back to 1976.

She wondered what the ridiculous Fred and George would tell her to do. They were as good as Sirius for giving bad advice. But like Sirius, they were not longer at Hogwarts and she had only her own guidance to go by.

She pulled a piece of parchment from her bag and sat down to make a list of her options. Regardless of how ridiculous any one thought might be, she wrote it down on her list. Once her options were down in words, she started to prune the list. She gave each option equal and logical consideration, taking into account the pros and cons, the potential dangers to herself and her friends. It did not take long before she had only two viable options. One was too painful to consider but was most logical. It was the one Dumbledore would approve of, but Dumbledore had approved of watching Remus starve himself to death. His opinion mattered very little to her on this particular subject.

The sixth year girls came up and fell into their beds, but Hermione continued to debate the last two options into the night. Around one in the morning she had started flipping a Galleon to see which side would win by mere chance. That was the point when she decided a second opinion would be best.

She walked down a level to the fifth year dorms and shook Ginny awake.

“What the hell?” she muttered sleepily. She had been enjoying a very nice dream about Harry in the Gryffindor locker room after practice, and did not appreciate being woken up.

“Ginny,” Hermione whispered. “I need your help. I can’t decide what to do.” She held up her parchment with her two final options circled in red ink.

By the girl’s lit wand, Ginny could read the parchment. She stabbed at it with her finger, “That one.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione asked in panic.

Ginny nodded and fell back onto her pillow to sleep. Hermione left her. She wanted to say that being woken from her sleep had addled her brain and nullified her decision, but she knew better. She knew that, in her half-consciousness, Ginny was more likely to go with her instincts. Her decision was more accurate than if she had asked the girl while she was awake.

The choice was made.


	53. Hermione's Choice

A week passed after Hermione’s decision was made for her. She expected to grow more agitated as her plan started to take shape around her, but she knew it would be alright. She just had to make sure of one or two details.

The night before she would make her final moves, Hermione refused to sleep, too worried that if she rested she might reconsider her options and her choice. She took a cold shower to force herself to stay awake and then went to breakfast. It was the day of the big Quidditch match against Slytherin. Ron was dressed in his uniform, but looked far from handsome. He looked sick. He hadn’t managed to convince Harry to cut him from the team and he had no choice but to play Keeper.

Harry eyed Hermione and made a show of pouring his Felix Felicis into a glass of pumpkin juice and handing it to Ron. She had been through this once already when Sirius pretended to give James the Liquid Luck. She and Harry both knew it was illegal to use that potion in sporting events, and she could only assume that Harry did it so obviously and in her presence so that she would draw attention to it.

“Ron! Don’t drink that! Harry put something in it!” she insisted, grabbing the glass with both hands.

Still smarting from her refusal to help him quit, Ron glared at her. He tore the glass from her hands and downed the juice in one gulp. “Stop bossing me around, Hermione.”

Harry grinned and pulled Ron up from the bench. As they walked to the locker room, he told the Keeper about their  _luck_  in the weather and Slytherin roster changes. Ron’s eyes widened and he flushed with excitement as he realised what Hermione had meant and what Harry had done. This was going to be his lucky day.

Still sitting at the Gryffindor table, Hermione grinned as broadly at her friends.

"Almost too easy, isn't it?" Rose commented as she shook her head, her fawn hair falling into her eyes.

Hermione looked to the girl and smiled. "Much too easy."

The skies were beautiful and clear, Malfoy was nowhere in sight and Ron’s reflexes were better than they had ever been in his life. He kept every Quaffle from reaching the goals and even had time to fly a few circles in the air to show off his broom skills. A loud, whooping cheer came from the cluster of Gryffindor sixth years, drawing Hermione’s attention away from the game; Parvati, Lavender and Rose shouted loudly for Ron. He must have heard them because he executed an impressive spin and grinned in their direction. Hermione was impressed what some confidence did for him, but she was too busy cheering as Harry and Harper dove for the snitch to pay Ron too much attention.

“Go, James!” She shouted and then realised what she had said. She looked around, only Rose seemed to have noticed but the girl made no rely though her blue eyes twinkled with an odd delight. “Go! Harry!” She tried again, though with considerably less enthusiasm as Harry caught the flying golden snitch and landed in triumph.

The Gryffindors rushed for the stairs, everyone wanting to be the first to congratulate their team. Only Hermione managed to make it through to the locker rooms. She found Harry smiling smugly as Ron went through the play-by-play of the game. Harry pushed his glasses up and waited for her to start on him.

“You were very good, Ron,” she smiled. “It’s amazing what a little self-confidence can do for your skills.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. Ron narrowed his eyes at her. “Thank you,” he said suspiciously.

Hermione continued, “I’m curious to see how you do when the ‘potion’ wears off.” As she made quote marks with her fingers around the word potion, Harry’s eyebrows disappeared into his fringe and Ron grew red in the face.

“What do you mean by that?” Ron stood, angrily.

“How did you know I didn’t really put it in?” Harry asked. He pulled the bottle from his pocket. They could all see it filled with golden potion and still sealed with wax.

“You didn’t put anything in my juice?” Ron asked. “But…the weather… Malfoy… There was no luck potion?”

“I told you that you were a fine Keeper, didn’t I? You don’t need anyone slipping you potions to make you good,” Hermione said with a satisfied smile. She turned and left them to change, receiving odd looks from Harry and Ron. Her smile only grew as she walked. They really were so much alike, Harry, Sirius and James.

The party in the common room was the rowdiest yet. The Wizarding Wireless blared out the latest hits and Ogden’s was surreptitiously added to the available drinks brought back from the kitchens. All the male players were surrounded by admiring and hopeful girls, but none had a tighter or more competitive circle than Harry. He didn’t seem displeased by the attention, but he also didn’t seem interested either.

The whole thing felt to Hermione like the going away party the Hufflepuffs had thrown for her last week.

Ron, hero of the hour, pushed through his circle of admirers to find the girl he was looking for.

“Ron! You were fantastic,” Lavender threw her arms around him. She stunk of firewhiskey and Ron pushed her off with a muttered ‘thanks.’ He moved purposefully for the bush fawn haired girl at the opposite end of the common room. She smiled when she saw him, which was all the encouragement the boy needed to pull her into a kiss. The Gryffindors cheered.

Hermione took a step back and smiled as her friend finally found the courage to make a move. Rose really was perfect for him.

oOo

It was so early in the morning that it was still considered night, but Hermione didn’t care. This work was better done in the dead of night. She snuck up to the sixth year boys’ dormitory in her socks, her trainers in her hand so she would make as little noise as possible. Hermione was going on forty-eight hours without sleep, and questioned the wisdom of her current action, but she knew that if she stopped to sleep on her decision, she would change her mind, and the only other option would leave too much wanting.

By the dim light coming in through the windows, she found the bed she sought. She looked down at the cherubic face of the chubby boy, narrowing her eyes at him. She hated to trick anyone, but knew he could not keep any memories of her. She pointed her wand at the sleeper and erased herself from his mind. With all the memory charms she had been performing lately, she found she had gained a tiny bit of respect for Gilderoy Lockhart. The amount of mental focus necessary to remove only certain memories while leaving others in tact was remarkable.

The sound of a boy stirring sent her rushing from the room. She had done what she intended to do and now she could finish the rest of her plan. There were just two spells left to perform, but they couldn’t be done here or at this hour of the morning.

She retreated to the common room to wait until a decent hour chimed. She sat at the window and watched the dark grounds below. Around five in the morning, the centaurs came into the field to practice their long range archery skills while there were no humans to gawk at them. There was light enough for them to see their targets and hit with deadly precision, but when the light grew too much they retreated back into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest. With their removal, she stood.

Her muscles were tight, as much from sitting on the narrow windowsill overnight as from being wound tight with stress for the past ten days. She was confident that it would all be worth it, though.

On battered trainers, she marched from the common room to the entrance hall, stopping at the girl’s lavatory on the first floor to clean herself up. How she presented herself to the Headmaster would be everything. If she could not convince him, then all her planning, charms and sleepless nights would have been for nothing. A few passes of her wand had her looking presentable within minutes and she left to find the Headmaster.

She walked until she came to the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office.

“You again,” it grumbled. “What are you doing here? And so early, too?”

“I’d like to speak to the Headmaster , s'il vous plaît. Is he in yet?” she asked.

“Yes, but he’s busy.”

“Thank you, that’s all I needed to know.” She pulled out her wand and cast her final spell.

oOo

No one was looking forward to Herbology today. Professor Sprout had told them to bring their thickest dragon hide gloves and to be prepared for a few nips from the Snap Dragons, which had grown pot-bound and needed replanting. The tight roots had made them rather surly and quick to bite, the plump professor informed them.

“Mr Potter,” she called. “Come help me with this demonstration.”

The boy pushed his glasses up and trudged forward. He was miserable at Herbology and hated when she singled him out to demonstrate. He inevitably got bit, stung or oozed on by whatever it was he was supposed to be re-potting or milking or grafting or whatever torture the woman had in mind for him. He secretly suspected she enjoyed watching her plants cause him physical pain. He even went so far as to think that she had somehow managed to train her plants to attack at certain seemingly-innocuous verbal cues, but everyone told him that was stupid.

“A Galleon says he’s cursing inside three minutes,” Sirius pulled a coin from his pocket.

“Two,” Peter said.

“You two,” Lily glared at them. “He’ll last at least five. What do you think, Remus?”

 Her green eyes turned to him, but he was staring off into space again. In the two weeks since Mione had left, they noticed that his eyes would glaze over during the times the girl would have been with him. Her spell wasn’t clean enough to leave him free of her, and in the back of his mind he knew there was something missing. He was trying and failing to figure out what it was.

A hand tapped his shoulder, “Pardon me, I can’t see.”

“Sorry,” Remus muttered and stepped aside to let the girl stand beside him.

“Merci,” she said and glanced at him. The glance lingered long enough to turn into an appraisal of the tall sixth year boy. He shifted a bit uncomfortably, but whatever she saw made her blush and smile. It took a great effort to tear their eyes away and watch James try to pry the Snap Dragon off his arm with a string of curses. He glanced back at the girl. She was giggling and held a delicate hand over her mouth.

“You’re Mione, right?” he asked quietly.

She smiled. “Yes, I’ve seen you in class, but haven’t had the chance to speak to you.”

“Yeah,” he said, fighting a grin. She had seen him. That meant she noticed him. It was his turn to blush.

“If you are free tomorrow after lunch, would you mind helping me catch up on what I missed while I was away?” she asked.

Did he want to spend the afternoon sitting with her? Was she stupid? Hell yes, he wanted to. He wanted to spend the afternoon, evening, night, morning and the rest of the term sitting next to her, the rest of his life. “I’m free. I’ll bring my notes.”

“Merci.”

The Beauxbatons stayed beside him through the entire class to talk. Their conversation primarily focused on Herbology and what they had learned in the time she had been in France, but it occasionally slipped into the personal. He found she was quick to confide in him, which he supposed was a good thing.

She sighed, “I’m just happy to get away.”

“From France?” he asked as he pulled his hand away from the Snap Dragon. Its tiny teeth left holes in his gloved.

“Reparo,” she waved her wand at his hand and the glove healed. “No, I love France. I’m happy to be free of my father. He’s insufferable, an absolute tyrant.”

“Thank you,” he said, flexing the gloved hand. “I take it you won’t be leaving again anytime soon. You’re…um…boyfriend can’t be too happy about the distance.” He watched her from the corner of his eye to see her response.

She blushed and ducked her head. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she admitted quietly. She glanced over at him as he tried not to look pleased. “You, of course, have a girlfriend, no?”

“No.”

“Pity,” she said, but sounded anything but sad for him. 

Everyone was surprised to see Mione back in class. Her presence caused more than a few unnecessary Snap Dragon bites to distracted students. James, Lily and Sirius were bit more than most; the trio knew where she was really from, where she had really gone and that it ought to have been impossible for her to return. They were dying to ask her what happened to bring her back to the past, but every time one of them looked up to speak to Mione a Snap Dragon latched onto them.

 What little attention they could divert went into noticing how Remus wasted no time in flirting with the girl. His memories were gone, but apparently the feelings remained.

“Mione,” Remus said. “These are my friends Sirius, James and Lily.” He pointed to each in turn, then pointed through the open window, “And that’s Peter.”

The chubby little sixth year blushed furiously. “Hi,” he said. “A-are you seeing anybody?”

“I’m seeing Remus this afternoon,” she replied politely, biting back a small smile at the boy’s inept attempt to ask her out.

James snorted and shoved Peter back from the window. “Wormtail, you know she’s Moony’s girl,” he whispered.

“What? Since when?” he protested. “He’s had  _months_  to make a move on her and hasn’t done anything! Why can’t I have a go?

James shook his head at the boy’s stupidity and turned back to Mione. As the introductions lead to slightly awkward small talk, they struggled to keep their faces straight, knowing that to Remus this really was the first time he was meeting Mione. It was like having a friend with Alzheimer’s, everything had to be relearned and re-experienced.

“Wait a moment. Sirius, James and Lily…Sirius Black, James Potter and Lily Evans?” Mione asked.

Sirius thought her acting had gotten better in the two weeks she had been away. She really did seem like she didn’t know them. “Yeah,” he said.

“I have a letter addressed to you,” she said. “I think it is from the Headmaster, but I’m not sure.” She dug into her ink-stained bag and found the folded and sealed parchment. Lily accepted it from her and turned it to see the recipients’ names written in a tidy hand. She didn’t recognise it as Dumbledore’s but nodded anyway.

“Mione!” Edlyn ran over and hugged her. The Hufflepuff girls squealed for joy and hauled the girl away from her new acquaintances. Mione glanced back to smile at Remus before they managed to pull her from the greenhouse.

“She’s gorgeous,” Remus said.

Sirius ignored him. They all knew he would get the girl, so there was no reason to pay any attention to his swooning. “Who wrote the letter?”

“I don’t know,” Lily said and wasted no time in cracking the wax seal and unfolding the parchment. “Hermione Granger. Was that her real name?”

“Only Remus knew,” Sirius looked at the werewolf, who was walking off on his own to the Great Hall, drawn by the beauty of Mione Garnier. “Pointless asking him.”

They leaned in and read the letter to themselves, assuming it might contain information that shouldn’t be said aloud.

‘Dear friends,’ Hermione wrote,

‘If you are reading this, then Dumbledore has seen fit to allow me to return to classes with you. If I have passed his tests, then I have to ask you not to mention the truth to me. I have removed my memories of the future, but there is a chance that something might remain and your questions might bring it to the surface. I don’t want to remember. If I remember, I will become a threat to the future as I know it.

‘Your plan to lock away his memories worked, but it couldn’t keep us together. Remus’ sense of propriety was too strong, and he couldn’t deal with the age gap. Losing him twice was too painful. Remaining ignorant of the truth is the only way Remus and I can be together.

‘I delivered your letter to Harry, but I don’t know what his reaction was. Harry is alive and in good hands. I’ve been assured that I’m not the only witch in the world who can learn a spell or wave a wand. Even  

‘Please honour my wishes and do not place us all in danger with unnecessary inquiries.

‘Yours, 

‘Hermione Granger, 1996’

James waited until Sirius finished reading before he punched him. “You wrote him the letter anyway!”

“Too late to get angry now,” Sirius dodge his second punch. “The damage is already done. The letter is delivered.” Sirius sent him a rude gesture and ran up the lawn.

“Get back here!” James ran after him.

Lily smiled and shook her head, trying to imagine what information a letter from Sirius to Harry, her son, might contain. She was not looking forward to finding out. More worrying still was the reference to Harry’s fight against Voldemort. Hermione wrote as if he were fighting the dark wizard personally. Lily would have loved to ask, but there was no chance to now. She would have to wait and see what the future held for her son.


	54. Repercussions: An Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry learns a lesson on being there.

The ear-slitting shrieks were too much inside the tiny sitting room. Harry loved The Burrow, he really did, but it was not equipped to handle so many children simultaneously, not by Harry's standard. He didn't know how Arthur and Molly had managed to raise their seven rambunctious children in such tight quarters. As he escaped to the kitchen, he found his answer; the Weasley men were sitting at the table, sipping firewhiskey and listening to a Quidditch recap on the Wizarding Wireless.

"Pull up a chair, Harry," Arthur instructed while Charlie poured him a drink. "First one off to Hogwarts is always the hardest; it gets easier with each one."

"Cheaper, too," Charlie winked. "Gotta love hand-me-downs."

Ron made a face, "Easier for you, maybe. Tonks is into everything looking all punk and patched. She tears up Teddy's clothes on purpose!"

During his school years, Ron had suffered most from the passed-down wand and pet. If he had his way, each of his kids would never know anything but brand new. His daughter, Sienna, had a new wand, new robes, new books and even an owl so new it could barely fly. His wife, Rose, thought he was being a bit too extravagant with his money. Like Ron, Rose knew what it was like to have very little; her family had been stigmatised by her father's condition, but after the war things got better. The wizarding world became less prejudiced, and Rose could put her considerable talents to good use.

In her case, it helped that she had been essential to Harry during the war, and, even as the child of a werewolf, she was sought after by the Ministry and offered a job in whatever department she chose. Even growing up wanting and rolling in Galleons from her job, she was not nearly as prone to throw her money away as Ron was. Her mother had been very practical despite being French, and she learned that thrift and moderation made their earnings go a long way.

Still, she did enjoy pampering her daughter just as much as Ron did.

"Ignore him," Charlie smiled. "It gets easier. Sending Arty off to school was much worse than Teddy."

"Doesn't seem any easier," Harry commented into his glass. Albus was being just as loud, if not louder than James was. He wanted to go through every single book and try on every robe, hat and glove; he, Ron and Charlie's children were filling the sitting room with their school supplies.

It would take the rest of the week to sort out which robes belonged on which child and which books belonged in which trunk.

Little Lily Potter and Hugh Weasley, who still had a couple years before they got trunks of their own, were digging into Harry's old trunk to play dress up. Ginny and Tonks thought it was the cutest thing they had ever seen and were taking enough photographs to blind everyone in the room. While Harry thought his daughter was the most precious thing on the planet, he had seen it all once already.

"Daddy!" Lily ran into the room, followed by Tonks and her camera. The woman tripped on a chair leg, but managed to keep herself upright long enough to snap a photo of Harry holding the little girl in oversized Hogwarts robes.

"Look what I found!" Lily pushed a yellowed letter into her father's face. He craned his head back to be able to make out the words.

"To the Honourable Mr Harry Potter?"

"What's honourable?" Lily asked.

"It's something your daddy isn't," Ron commented. He got a kick under the table for it, too.

"Honourable is someone who always does the right thing," Harry told her.

She tipped her head to the side and looked at him, "Are you honourable?"

"I like to think so," he smiled. That was good enough for her. She jumped out of his lap and ran back to the sitting room to tell all the older kids that her daddy was honourable.

"So, Honourable Harry Potter," Ron grinned. "What's that letter about?"

Harry looked at it. The paper was thick and expensive. The seal was still solid, even though it looked like it had been sitting around for some time. He did not recognise the writing or the letter, yet it had been in his old school trunk. Remembering how high he had been on Voldemort's hit list, he didn't trust the letter not to be some long-delayed attempt on his life. He waved his wand at it, but nothing happened.

"It's clean. Open it," Ron poked him. "I'm dying to know who would have the nerve to call you honourable."

"Git," Harry muttered, but prised the wax from the paper and opened it. He scanned the page and his eyes fell on the author and the date written at the bottom of the page. His brow knit together above his glasses and he read the letter properly. His eyes grew wide. The men around him didn't say anything. If his reaction was any indication, the letter was more serious than the address would indicate.

Harry read the letter three times before he set it down and hurried to join his wife and children in the sitting room.

"Oi! Where you going?" Ron called.

"I'm missing it," Harry said and disappeared through the door.

"Who sent it?" Arthur asked, curious to know who could have written a letter to make Harry so eager to be with his children.

Ron shrugged and opened the letter and read the signature, "Sirius Black… March 1977?” He passed it to the others. “Was it Hermione, you think?”

“Must have been,” Arthur said. “She wrote that she was going back, didn’t she?”

The door open and Tonks managed to walk in without stumbling on anything. She stole her husband’s drink and was shocked that Charlie didn’t protest. “What’s going on?” she asked, worried.

“Thinking about Hermione again,” Charlie said.

“Ah,” she nodded. She remembered Hermione, Harry’s smart friend. The girl had disappeared in their sixth year and Tonks had been one of the Aurors brought in to investigate. There was no evidence of coercion or dark magic, so it was dropped. The case was still officially unsolved.

However, all the Order members knew that Harry received a letter via Muggle mail that summer giving him a full and proper explanation.

Even though she left Remus’s name out of the letter, they all suspected that the man’s very clever French wife was really Hermione without her memories. George, more than anyone, loved pointing out that Ron was married to Lupin’s kid, and therefore would have married his friend’s daughter. Magic and time travel aside, that was just wrong in Ron’s opinion and he ignored the idea entirely.

“Still don’t know why she went back,” he muttered.

“Of course we do!” Tonks insisted. “That Remus Lupin was a handsome bloke. I would have back in time for a bit of that action.”

“Oi!” Charlie protested and pointed at himself. “Husband right here!”

“I know,” Tonks leaned in and kissed his cheek. “And I love you, Charlie. I’m just saying Lupin was hot, even for an old man.”

“Oi!” Arthur protested. “Old man right here!”

Tonks laughed and gave her father-in-law a kiss on his cheek, too. 


	55. Letter From a Dead Man

_To the Honourable Mr Harry Potter_

_Dear Harry,_

_I call you honourable because your friend says you're nothing like your dad. She says you're going to be modest. I hope that isn't some futuristic euphemism for 'boring.' I can't imagine the son of James Potter being modest, but hope springs eternal. And if I have anything to say about it, you will not turn out boring. But I'm guessing by the way she hasn't mentioned my future the way she mentioned Remus being your teacher or James and Lily marrying that I might not be a very big part of your life despite what James tells me._

_Let me say now, here in 1977, as young and stupid as I am, there's one thing I know for sure and it's that I want to be a part of it. Whatever happens to me that keeps me away from you, just remember that it wasn't by choice. I would never turn my back on James or any son of his. You and he are my family and I love you both. Whenever you need help, just call me and I'll find a way to be there._

_Maybe she just didn't say anything to keep us from fucking with the timeline. Remus seems to think that's what it is, but I see the way she looks away when James or Peter or I ask about the future. I know something is going to happen. Maybe it already has and this warning will come too late, but be careful. I would die to protect you and your dad, but I may not have the opportunity to prove that to you._

_In case I'm not around to be a bad influence on you, let me tell you a few things about your dad. He got so scared in his first Quidditch match against Slytherin that he shat himself before the game. He also ran away from the first girl who tried to kiss him, Danielle Hodgekiss, remember that name. And he cheated on his History of Magic exam third year. He copied his answer off of Remus and still got points taken off for his miserable penmanship. Also, remember to ask him about The Niffler Incident. That one is very important and embarrassing. I've been forbidden to tell you about it, but you can still ask him for yourself._

_Evans is so blunt about your dad's shortcomings she's probably already told you how long it took him to win her over, but I'll assume she's gotten nicer over the years. He spent nearly three years chasing her down the halls of Hogwarts. She hexed him five times that I know of and levitated him into the lake twice. It took your friend to help him get the girl. I don't know if that counts as tampering with the timeline. Maybe she was meant to come back here to make sure you were born._

_About your friend, she's a keeper like Remus, clever and dead reliable. She'll keep you out of trouble, which if you're even a bit like your dad will find you even if you don't want it to._

_There's more I would like to say to you, but I'm going to hold on to it in the hope that I will be a part of your life. Maybe now that I know you're coming, I can help prevent whatever it is that comes between us Marauders. I want to be there for your first day at Hogwarts and all your Quidditch matches. I don’t want to miss a moment of you._

_Remember that I love you and I can't wait to meet you._

_Sirius Black  
March 1977_


End file.
